Slipped Angles
by playfulsparkle
Summary: Dean's new neighbor Cas is weird as hell, but Dean is easily intrigued by those ugly sweaters and that heartfelt smile. Over summer, Cas has taught Dean math and they've become friends. Things have gone great until Dean's girlfriend Lisa accused him of having a mysterious affair. Dean starts to wonder. When Cas turns out to be Dean's new high school teacher, things get out of hand.
1. Sheets

_**Slipped Angles**_

Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters. I do not make any profit with this story.

Additional Warnings/Info: referenced alcoholism, underage drug use, Bobby's alter ego, age difference, slow burn, dean smokes, light dom/sub (rated M for later), mystery, bad parenting

 **Chapter 1**

 _Dean…_

 _Deeeaaan…_

„Dean!Wake _up_. _"_

Ugh. Sammy's voice. Not something you'd want to hear first thing in the morning.

Ignoring his little brother, Dean grunted and rolled over on his stomach, the coil spring of his old mattress unpleasantly poking him in rather adventurous places. Still better than getting up, though.

 _"Dean."_

Dean opened his eyes with an eye roll, blonde fringe shagging into his eyes, and found himself face to face with Sammy. Definitely not something you'd want see first thing in the morning, either. Sammy had an angry look on his face, and before Dean had a chance to ask him what was even going on, Sam grabbed his shoulders and started to shake him violently.

"Wake—up—Dean!"

„What the hell, you bitch!" Dean shouted. "I'm literally looking at you, so no reason to go mental like that!" Dean easily pushed Sam off of him and Sam, dramatic as always, screamed in pain as he landed on the cold wooden floor of their cottage.

„Ouch, Dean! You hurt me! I'm just trying to—"

"Stop crying, Sam, it's your own damn fault. It's Saturday morning, okay, and the sun isn't even up yet, so shut up and let me sleep! Just go and play outside or something, weirdo."

That said, Dean grumpily fell back into his soft pillow, pulled the blanket over his head and mumbled something else Sam couldn't quite figure out, probably death-spells on him. Sam let out a frustrated sigh. It wasn't like he'd expected anything else from Dean after all, whom he'd by the way unsuccessfully tried to wake up an hour ago already.

"It's _Monday_ morning, Dean, not Saturday."

"So what, it's Monday morning! Summer holidays, Sammy. Every day's friggin' Saturday morning."

"Sure, Dean."

Sam sighed dramatically.

"And can you explain to me, just _why_ would I get up at six am and try to wake you up—still trying, by the way, even though you're being a total jerk—if this was just a regular day?"

"Don't know, don't care."

Sam was so close to giving up. After a moment of silence, he simply clapped his hands.

"All right. Fine, Dean. So, have fun sleeping through the first day of the school year, but _I_ don't wanna be late."

All at once Dean's body stiffened under the sheets.

He pulled them away in the blink of an eye to take a second look at Sammy, patiently sitting on the floor, proudly bitch-facing at him.

„Sonofa _bitch_ ", Dean realized. „Oh god, no. No, no, _no._ "

Sam was pleased by the devastated look on Dean's face, which usually only appeared either totally cool or cheeky to please his seemingly countless girlfriends.

"So, you coming or what?"

Dean yawned, and laboriously sat up in his bed like an old man. Groaning. Bones cracking. He forced himself to start slogging towards the bathroom, though getting out of bed alone took him a try or two.

"I guess. Aw, fuck this. Only yesterday I was still enjoying my freedom, changing the world, really, and now this pointless crap again. How did this happen, Sam?"

Sam just raised his brows, watching Dean, unimpressed.

"By changing the world you mean binge-watching _The Wire_ while stuffing yourself with seriously scary amounts of mac and cheese?"

"Well, I gotta start somewhere, right?"

"Yeah. Right. Well, at least you got one thing right over the holidays. You actually studied math—like _crazy._ Seriously, that was pretty awesome of you, Dean. So I guess you deserve all the mac and cheese in the world."

Dean involuntarily blushed. Goddammit. He stopped, turning to Sam with sleepy eyes.

"Damn straight—about the mac'n'cheese bit. But just to get this clear, I studied like a normal person. I don't do _like crazy."_

"Yeah, whatever." Sam shrugged. "I'm just saying that Mr. Novak must be a great private tutor. I mean you've basically lived with him for the past weeks. You can count yourself seriously lucky. He's gotta be as patient as an angel."

Dean froze in the door frame, rubbing his neck. Blushing harder.

"Y—yeah. I guess he is." Dean smiled, shyly. "I mean he's a really cool guy. Heh. A little weird, though, and pretty dorky, but—"

" _Dean._ Hurry up already, we're late as hell!"

Dean rolled his eyes, slipping into the bathroom.


	2. Him

**Chapter 2**

Sam turned around for the thousandth time on their way to school, glaring at Dean, who was still moving like some rickety old man. He was wearing Dad's old brown leather jacket. Fitting. It took Dean nine hundred years to light his cigarette and he drew with relish.

„ _What,_ Sammy ?" Dean barked, gesturing with his cig-holding hand. "I literally just got out of bed. What do you expect me do to? _Jog?"_

Sam made wide eyes. "Yeah. For starters."

„Well, hate to break it to you, little brother, but surprisingly, I still don't give a fuck about school."

Sam frowned, and got moving again as Dean finally caught up with him. "Except about math, you mean."

"Uh, yeah." Dean coughed slightly, avoiding his look. "Except— _that._ But the only thing I'm seriously worried about's being too late for Lisa. You know how she gets sometimes. I promised I'd meet her before school as always. Totally forgot about that."

Dean blew some smoke towards Sam, who now glared at him.

„So, you guys are still together then?"

„Yeah." Dean shrugged. „Sure we are."

He knew what Sam was getting at. There had been some trouble with Lisa and him over the holidays, and—anyway. Sam didn't know the details. He _did_ know something had happened, though. And of course he wouldn't let it go. Although the whole thing hadn't been a big deal.

Just a slight misunderstanding.

Luckily, Sam had only caught a few words of the argument Dean and his longtime-girlfriend had had over the phone a few weeks ago, but still it had been enough to make that sonofabitch as curious as some 12-year-old gossip girl. Dean figured that Sam's even more annoying behavior than usual had something to do with the fact that—ever since the beginning of the summer holidays—for the first time both of them had a girlfriend. Of course he would be competitive about it, that immature little bitch.

„Alright Sammy, guess I'll catch you later", Dean said, absent-minded, and waved at his brother, who probably did the same.

Dean didn't know, because he was already concentrating on putting on his most gorgeous smile for Lisa, who was waiting for him at the abandoned bus stop on the other side of the road. She smiled back at him, warmly. Inside, Dean uttered a sigh of relief. He couldn't find any sign of repressed anger behind her hazel eyes.

Still, you could just never know with women.

They shared a small kiss, but it was long enough to give Dean those good old butterflies back, the ones he'd been afraid of never coming back since their first big fight two weeks ago. They felt a little sluggish, those butterflies, sort of reluctant even. But they were flying nonetheless.

Her lips tasted as sweet as they'd always had since the first time he'd kissed them, which had happened about two years ago whilst swinging together on the school's playground. Now, being with her under that golden sunrise, he felt closer to her than ever before. Well, that was what she'd claimed anyway after they'd made up. And Dean had found those words nicely optimistic.

Because he _was_ totally optimistic. Obviously.

Also, it had all just been a slight misunderstanding, Dean reminded himself.

Now, nothing would come between them again, and nothing would ever ruin the magic between them. And there was absolutely no need for Dean to continue breaking his head about Lisa's mean words concerning his so-called _'summer affair'._

Especially not now, while she was grasping his hand as if there'd never been any trouble, as if all was forgotten, no hard feelings.

* * *

As Dean finally entered the student-crammed class room, he could barely resist the urge to pull off one of his most elaborated _ugh_ -faces. He had a whole variety of facial expressions to tell the world that he really didn't care at all. But unfortunately Lisa, who was sitting with her girlfriends in the back row, was watching him proudly. So Dean managed an awkward smile for her. A whole new year of school crap lying ahead of him.

Terrific.

Dean had made a promise to Lisa to give at least a tiny fuck this final year at high school, and—most importantly to her—not to skip class anymore. As much as it pained Dean, he wouldn't let his girlfriend down.

And Dean wouldn't let _him_ down.

„Please make an effort, Dean", _he_ had begged, „if not for yourself, do it for your brother. You're looking out for him, aren't you?"

Dean smiled, looking down at his shoes.

„Oh, _there_ you are, Dean-o!"

Dean winced slightly as his best friend Gabriel slapped his ass, passing him from behind on his way to their seat in the first row.

"Nice to see ya, man", Gabe continued, excited, slumping down on his chair. Dean reluctantly followed suit. „Y'know, Dean-o, I haven't seen a whole lot of you over the holidays. Has Lisa been keeping you busy, my friend?"

He gave him one of his dirtiest smirks.

Despite his sinking mood, Dean couldn't help it and grinned back.

„Ha. You bet. Teacher hasn't been here yet?"

„No," Gabe replied, stretching himself. „I've heard we're getting a new one, anyway. As if that's going to improve our class' unholy math grades."

Dean scoffed. This might have been a good moment to brag to Gabe about his little extra coaching during the holidays. But it would involve telling Gabe about _him._ And for some reason, Dean didn't want to do that. What Lisa had said about it— _summer affair_ , Dean thought uncomfortably—made him feel kind of weird about the whole thing.

His thoughts were still half-way at the wooden cottage he'd visited so many times in the last weeks. The friendly light blue eyes which had welcomed him happily every time. Their laughter lines.

Gabe snapped his fingers right in front of Dean's nose.

"Dude, you look like a freak right now. Would you mind not thinking 'bout what you've done to Lisa this summer while you're talking to me? It's written all over your stupid face. If you can't help yourself, then at least tell me about it. And don't leave out any details. I've noticed already that her tits jumped up at least one cup. And don't get me started on her ass—"

"Cut it off, asshole", Dean grunted, nervously checking on Lisa. Still babbling with her girlfriends in the corner of the room. "I was just thinking exactly _how_ hard I will kick your ass during break, haven't decided yet."

"Lame, Dean-o. Your face is as red as your girlfriend's pantie today. Pretty yummy, I have to say—"

"Dude. Shut up."

Dean avoided any eye contact with him.

Heart beating harder than necessary, Dean noticed footsteps coming down the hallway, a confident walk which could only belong to a teacher. Glad to be able to end the disturbing conversation with Gabe, Dean faced the black board. The class slowly went quiet in anticipation of the new authority.

The door knob was pulled. Of course nothing happened, because it wasn't that kind of door. A moment later the eventual push happened, and the eventual awkward laughter followed. _Classic,_ Dean thought, searching for his math equipment in his backpack, which wasn't exactly an easy task.

The teacher stepped inside busily.

Dean immediately stopped what he was doing, his attention somehow drawn to the front.

"Hello, students."

Dean's eyes went of the girls were excitedly whispering into each other's ears, but it seemed like a thousand miles away.

Holy crap.

It was _him._

Standing in front of the class was no one other than _Cas._

Cas met Dean's eyes, recognizing him. Dean found himself paralyzed, unable to move, speak. Cas looked _amazing._ White shirt. Tousled bed-hair. Freshly shaved. Rosy skin. Dean felt like hiding under the table, internally screaming.

"Hello, Dean."

Dean's heart stopped.

Cas didn't even sound surprised.

Dean mouthed something, unable to control his facial features. He managed a little smile, nodded at his new teacher— _Cas, Cas, Cas_ —and let his eyes wander around nervously. He felt blood shooting into his cheeks. _As red as your girlfriend's panties_ , he heard Gabe's voice coming to his mind, which was pretty disturbing.

After what felt like ages, Cas continued talking.

"So, uhm."

Cas cleared his throat, standing in front of the class.

"I am Mr. Novak. Very pleased to meet you. Let me shortly introduce myself before we start with Algebra."

"Please make it long", Gabe blurted out.

The class responded with collective giggling, laughing off the awkwardness of the moment. Mr. Novak— _Cas_ —seemed confused.

"All right guys, calm down, please. So—introduction. I am your new math teacher. I will replace Mr. White. Now. I come from Heaven, and I will—"

"Heaven, where's that?" Someone interrupted.

"I knew he's an angel", a female voice muttered, and a handful of girls shyly joined the laughter.

"It is a town in Colorado. It's where I come from. Well, all right, students, let's just skip this part then and jump right into business." Cas looked around himself, frowning. "I need chalk for the black board. Can anyone help me out, please?"

"Me", Dean squeaked, raising his hand.

He cleared his throat, blushing.

"I mean, uh, I'll do it."

 _Gotta get out of here._

"Thank you, Dean."

Cas was smiling at him, seeming to find the sight of him calming somehow. The sight of Cas' smile, however, made Dean feel the exact opposite.

Dean got up from his chair and hurried to the door, stumbling and almost taking the chair with him, catching someone muttering "Why does he know his name?" on his way out.

* * *

 _So. Skipping class after all. First day of school and he can't be bothered._

That was probably what everyone thought who came across Dean that morning.

 _Such a rebel._

Dean was hiding at his favorite place, the town's Fishing Lake, which wasn't very far from home.

He took a long drag on his cigarette.

When he had left under the pretense of getting his new math teacher who happened to be no one less than friggin' _Cas_ some chalk, he hadn't wasted another thought on returning.

All the times Dean and Cas had met over the summer, never had they talked about where Dean went to school. Sure, Dean had figured that Cas was a teacher. But for some reason, the simple question "Where do you teach, then?" hadn't crossed his mind. Not even once. Now that Dean thought about it, there had been a lot of things they'd never bothered to address. Somehow, they'd always managed to stay in the moment, not to think about the rest of their lives, and to just enjoy each other's company.

And—of course—they'd also done a fair amount of math practice.

 _Actually,_ Dean added in mind rather angrily, _the whole point of our meetings had simply been Cas helping me out with math. Just private tutoring. That's it. I suck at math and he was nice enough to get my lazy ass movin'. What Lisa said—_

Dean gave a frustrated sigh, hiding his face in his palm for a moment.

 _—doesn't matter. Just a misunderstanding._

Cas hadn't even really looked surprised to see him. But then again, Cas always seemed to be in control of his emotions. Always choosing which emotions he wanted to display openly and which ones he wanted to keep to himself. But those, Dean figured, were just his personal impressions of Cas as a person, as a casual new neighbor who happened to have a heart for math losers. Dean could be completely wrong about him. Because it wasn't like they had spent every waking minute together or anything.

Manically, Dean drew on his cigarette.

He hadn't realized that it was burned down already, and seared his lips.

Snipping the finished cig into the dew covered, green grass, Dean got up from the park bench.

Ready to do, well—something.

He needed to busy himself and started kicking random pebble stones.

Dean friggin' loved this bench. He'd been returning to it every now and again ever since he could remember. One time—it seemed like it was yesterday and it really only happened a few weeks back—he had been lingering around right here. Sam had been with his crush Jess somewhere, and Dean had felt a little lonely.

Then, out of the blue, a strange man had sat down next to him.

Dean had jumped in surprise, and the stranger had quietly laughed at him.

Not in a creepy way, though, even if the dude clearly hadn't seemed to mind personal space. He had sat so close that his thighs had brushed Dean's. Actually, Dean remembered, they had literally been _pressing_ against his own. The man had started talking to Dean as if he was an old friend he'd just met in the park.

"I like this place. It's calm."

"Uh. I guess."

"Sometimes humankind just needs to take a moment to rest its mind, in all of this universal promiscuity and unclear flurry of activity. Am I right?"

"I have no idea what you just said to me, but. Yeah. This place is pretty chill."

"'Chill'", the man had repeated thoughtfully. He'd turned to Dean. That had been the moment Dean had noticed how _gorgeous_ the dude was. And how close. "Is that a 'slang word'? It's a good word. 'Chill'. Did you know that 'slang' means 'slurred language'? It's funny, because 'slang' is slurred language itself."

Dean had rubbed his neck. "Uh, yeah. No, I didn't know that. Very—uh—funny."

The man had smiled at him. _Dude._ "What's your name?"

"I'm Dean. But my friends just call me—uh—Dean."

"Dean", the man had repeated again. "Well, hello, Dean."

"Yeah. Hello. Uh—"

"Castiel."

"—Castiel. Oh. So you're French? _Castielle?_ Man, I suck at French."

Cas had giggled. "No, Dean. I am not a French person. That's just my name. Admittedly it is a quite odd one, compared to yours."

"Oh. _Oh."_ Dean had felt like an idiot, furiously blushing.

"Pas de problème."

"Uh. Merci?"

Cas had started talking about how he was new to this place, St. Tipper. Dean wouldn't have been surprised if he had told him he was new to planet earth in general.

For some reason, Dean hadn't even thought about making one snarky remark towards his old-fashioned trench coat, the blue tie hanging loosely and backwards around his neck or the whole weirdness of the situation overall. He'd just performed one idiotic faux-pas after another, he recalled. In Dean's defense, Cas had sat intimidatingly close. And his voice. Eyes. Everything.

At the sudden memory, Dean felt a wave of anger rushing through his body, because back then everything had been fine.

And now—

"Now everything's friggin' screwed", he cursed.

He didn't know where to go, just that he had to go somewhere, and let his feet carry him through the cold wind, aimless, on that so very screwed up first day of September.


	3. Tea

**Chapter 3**

"Oh, there he comes, _mi fiel amigo_ Dean!"

Bobby El Cantante exclaimed with a satisfied grin spread all over his wrinkled, sweaty face.

When everything else failed, Dean visited Bobby. And right now everything _was_ failing. The school's heating room, which was located in the school's main building's basement, was where the Mexican janitor Bobby spend most of his working time at.

"Hey, Bobby, how are you doing", Dean greeted, grumpily.

He couldn't help but grin back at the old man, though.

Bobby was one of Dean's few buddies, and Lisa had once jokingly called him his father replacement. Dean hadn't found her joke very funny back then, but of course he'd never forgotten about it. Dean started their usual greeting ceremony, uselessly watching Bobby carry some heavy wires around.

"Damn, man", Dean mocked him, sighing. "Those Mexicans don't bring anything better than Burritos to us, if you ask me."

"Yeah, gotta hate them Mexicans", Bobby agreed, mumbling into his beard.

"What are you doing, anyways, Bobz?"

"Well, my little Trump, I certainly ain't practicing for my Salsa class."

Dean's grin died. "You're working. Obviously."

 _"Tryin'."_

Dean pointed at the freshly-rolled joint lying on Bobby's working table.

"Working, eh?"

Again, Bobby's grumpy look killed Dean's cocky grin.

"Why don't you mind your own business and tell me what's going on with _your_ ass instead. Whatcha doing here at this early hour, _mi hijo?_ And don't tell me you're here to apply for an internship."

"And there goes my chance at having a future."

"Well, you won't have one at all, unless you spill the beans on what's up with you this mornin' right about now."

"Nope. Sorry."

Bobby sighed, getting back to work on some wires, humming _La Cucaracha_ as he did so. He was obviously proud of his pleasantly warm singing voice. After a while he stopped humming and turned to Dean again.

"So nothing's changed over the summer, sí?"

Dean grabbed the old, ragged sombrero that the janitor hardly ever took off and placed it on his own head.

"What do you mean?"

He tried to sound careless. Unfortunately, I-don't-give-a-fuck–Dean generally seemed to be off to greater adventures today.

Of course Bobby didn't fail to notice. " _Mi hijo,_ what y'think I mean?"

"Yeah, well, what can I say. Don't like digging deep. Never will. And I actually _went_ to class this morning, for your information. But as soon as I entered the room, everyone started complaining that I would just outsmart them." Dean paused and shrugged. "So thanks to my overwhelming intelligence I'm left on my own devices again."

He fiddled with the sombrero, secretly hoping for one of the janitor's barking laughs. Sadly, Bobby didn't seem to be in the mood. In response, Dean only got a long sigh and an indistinct _pinche idiota_ before Bobby got back to work. Well, at least he didn't throw Dean out.

Whistling, Dean made himself comfortable—or as comfortable as possible—in a car tire lying about on the dusty concrete floor. So what. He didn't feel like sharing the events of the day with anyone _._ In fact, Dean hardly ever felt like sharing his _feelings_ or whatever. And what had happened today—and over summer—was without a doubt a matter of feelings. A blue-eyed, annoyingly gorgeous matter that had haunted him all the way into the classroom. Once appeared out of nowhere, and now following him everywhere.

After a long while of silence and several naps later, Dean half-heartedly initiated a conversation.

They spent the afternoon chatting about the janitor's latest _delivery_ from Mexico, and things were back to normal.

At least for the moment.

* * *

Class had almost finished by the time Dean began his walk back home.

He left the school building, brushing off dust from his jeans and leather jacket, and was glad to find the schoolyard empty. Relieved, he looked up at the sky and took a deep breath. Overall, it'd been a sunny day, and yet now, clouds were crowding in.

Dean didn't want summer to end.

He should text Lisa. With a sigh he dug out his phone.

 ** _u mad at me? sorry bout this morning. can we meet later?_**

Lisa replied instantly, had probably been waiting for some kind of explanation all day.

 ** _dean, idk why u ditched school 2day. again. u promised me not to. anyway, should we meet at 8? dying to know why the hell our new math teacher knows ur name. XXX_**

Why, why did Cas have to acknowledge him in front of everyone? He could have waited until after class with approaching him.

 _Dean, what a funny coincidence meeting you here! The world is so small! Hahaha!_

Except that Cas would never say such a thing, Dean thought.

Finally Sammy's, his and their Dad John's cottage slowly appeared at the end of the road. It was further away from the street than the other few homes settled down in Fleeing Deer Street. Their middle-sized wooden cottage lay on a small hill, directly adjoining the wild Green Forest of St. Tipper. Dean paced along the sand path leading to his home, not really wanting to be there. But he knew he had to.

A few footsteps back, Dean had passed another cottage, a very special one, one that he knew pretty well from the inside, too. His thoughts floating around in unknown atmospheres, anywhere but around his troubled presence, Dean had passed Cas' home mindlessly. He hadn't noticed the brown Chevrolet Pickup parking in the entrance. And he'd perceived Cas standing in the front yard, staring right at Dean, only as a scheme, if at all. Nothing relevant to his life right now.

Except that it was.

"Hello, Dean."

Dean spun around and found himself face to face with Cas. Mr. Novak. His neighbor. And his math teacher. If you put it like that, it didn't even sound that complicated.

"Shouldn't you be at school?" Dean blurted out.

The question seemed to hang between them for a moment. Dean had the strong urge to slap himself.

"I mean. Obviously, I'm not there either", he added quickly, not daring to meet Cas' eyes.

Dean had known Cas for more than two months now, that strange man who walked and talked as if the world meant something else to him. And yet today, he had met a different Cas. Mr Novak and Cas just didn't really match in Dean's mind. Cas was dorky. He wore ugly sweaters, hardly ever shaved, and sometimes forgot to shower for an entire week without noticing. Mr. Novak, however, was hot stuff. _Seriously_ hot stuff. So hot that it couldn't be ignored anymore.

 _Look, I'm sorry for leaving class. I know I said I'd stop ditching school. Was feeling sick, s'all._

"Do I have to call you 'Mr. Novak' now?" Dean heard himself ask instead.

Cas seemed to ponder over Dean's question for a moment, looking down at his feet.

"I made you uncomfortable today", Cas then stated matter-of-factly.

"Huh? No, you didn't. Sure, I was surprised, but so were you, right? I mean, you kind of had to be. It was—weird."

Cas gave a small nod.

"I was relieved, actually. Seeing you, Dean, eased my stress level." Cas smiled weakly, finally looking up at him. Dean's heart began beating faster. "You looked sleepy, though. I had to get up very early, too. Teaching is hard."

Now Dean smiled too, shyly.

"Yeah. School sucks."

"I agree to some extent." Cas rubbed his stubble. "I would've liked it better if you'd stayed."

For a second Dean was struck dumb, guilt pinching his stomach. Then he started stuttering. "I—I was just not feeling too great. Guess I ate something bad, or something."

Cas ran his fingers through his wild curls and shrugged. "I can't say I was feeling too well, either. I'm always quite nervous when I meet a new class."

Dean tried a compassionate smile.

Suddenly, Cas froze, staring at a spot just under Dean's chin. Maybe at his lips. Then Cas stepped forward, with a determined look on his face, and Dean's heartbeat went out of control. Cas grabbed Dean tight and—

—pushed him a few steps aside. A choked laugh escaped Dean's lips.

Cas let go and left Dean's upper arm ache from the strong grip.

"What—what was that?" Dean breathed, unsuccessfully searching Cas' gaze, whose eyes hectically wandered anywhere but into Dean's.

"My apologies", Cas said.

He didn't back off, though.

"Cas, uh. Personal space?"

"Oh. Right. My apologies." Cas took a tiny step back.

Finally Dean could breathe again. "What was that? For a second I thought you were about to—uh, nothing."

"There. There was a bee. It nearly landed on you. Sorry, Dean. I'm—I'm afraid of them. Traumatic memories."

"Bees?" Dean repeated, one eyebrow cocked.

He watched Cas shift uncomfortably.

"Yes", Cas made, face to the ground. He continued quickly, as if to change the subject. "Dean, I don't want you to call me anything different. I like how you shortened my name."

"You mean… Cas?"

"Yes. It's… nice. I have grown quite fond of it."

Dean shrugged. "Yeah, uhm. Me too."

"So. Please don't change it, Dean."

"No, I… I won't." Dean smirked. "Cas."

 _I don't want anything to change,_ neither of them spoke out.

They exchanged a glance, both lapsing into silence and looking away. Cas was still way too close, Dean thought, and Dean had trouble focusing on anything other than the three top buttons of Cas' white shirt, specifically the chest they were revealing, because they'd popped open during Cas' life-saving action. Cas' shirt was _tight._

Cas was sort of staring down at Dean's jeans, because apparently he didn't know where else to look, either. Dean could feel himself blush. The silence was getting awkward. Normally, Dean wouldn't have minded silence, and he knew that Cas didn't even realize there _was_ an awkward pause. But Dean felt like he still needed to say something, needed to set things straight.

"It's just—", Dean began. "It's just that we've hung out a lot over the summer, and I _know_ you're almost old enough to be my dad, and hell, now you're my friggin' teacher, but I just like spending time with you. So, no matter what we're gonna do, study math, stare at the wall or whatever, I'd just like to keep that up. Because you're my friend. And I like talking to you. I like being with you. I like— _you._ "

Dean finished breathlessly.

After three horrible seconds he dared looking up to see Cas' reaction.

Cas smiled one of his _I just stepped out the door and wow, the world is a beautiful place -_ smiles.

"Would you like a cup of tea, Dean?"

Cas turned around and started walking towards the house.

Dean felt the aftermath of Cas' smile everywhere— _everywhere_ —and was unable to move for a second. Then he threw one look over to his home, figured that Sammy probably wouldn't immediately die without him, and hurried after Cas. Briefly, he thought about greeting his classmates tomorrow.

 _Hey guys, guess what I did yesterday? Had tea with our new math teach. Yeah, that's right, with Mr. Novak. We hung out._

 _Just like we did all summer._

* * *

„Dean, would you mind _not_ running around the house like Speedy Gonzales? It's been _hours._ Don't you have some TV show to binge-watch or something? I'm trying to do my homework here."

"Well, one of us has to clean at some point, right, Sammy? Or would you prefer living like some rat in a dump?"

"No, Dean. But I'd prefer getting my homework done in peace."

"Well, sorry, Buddha, but I've got work to do. Take a look around! It's gross."

"It's literally _sparkling_."

" _You_ are sparkling. I'm not done yet. Face it."

"Then how am I supposed to concentrate? _Latin,_ Dean. I'm trying to translate Cicero here."

"Dude. You're in 8th grade. Where did you go wrong?"

"Just do me a favor and sit down already, jerk."

"Nope, thanks", Dean refused, throwing a look at Sam over his shoulder. "Nerd."

Sam bitch-faced at Dean and loudly slammed his text book shut. Furiously, he started collecting his school stuff from their small dining table.

Dean threw the collected pieces of dirty clothing in the washing machine and started the load. He closed the bathroom door behind himself. The washing machine got going, and Dean leaned against it, recharging for a moment. He was exhausted. But he couldn't stand still. Just couldn't.

After drinking tea with Cas everything had been a blur. Dean had gone directly home to his brother. That much he remembered. Ever since then the adrenaline had been rushing through his veins like crazy, turning him into a flustered, unstoppable mess.

Because Cas had touched his arm. Squeezed it. _Gently._

Dean was very aware of his suspiciously untypical behavior. He didn't usually care that much about their home's looks. But anything distracting him from overthinking what had just happened with Cas was fine. And if that meant cleaning every single damn surface he could find in their two-room-cottage, scrubbing and wiping and washing the whole night like a maniac, then that would be the way he'd spend this Monday night.

Dean took a deep breath and left the bathroom.

Sam, backpack flung over his shoulder, glared at him.

"Damn, Dean", Sam finished, turning around. "You're making me sick."

"Where do you think you're going, Sam?" Dean shouted, sounding more determent than he'd intended.

Halfway out of the house, Sam stopped to give his brother another deathly stare.

"Out. Somewhere I can concentrate. And stop acting like Dad, Dean."

The following silence was broken by the shattering sound of the door slamming shut.

 _He's probably just running to Jess,_ Dean thought, hoped, and swallowed hard.

He stood still for a long moment, taking an expert look around the room.

Sam had been right. It really was sparkling. There wasn't anything left that Dean hadn't cleaned within the past two hours. He needed to stop. With all the will in the world. Maybe he should just—take a nap. Yeah, that sounded manageable.

Yawning, Dean simply placed himself on the wrung-out, still quite comfortable couch standing in the middle of the cottage's gloomy living room, which also functioned as Dean and Sam's bed room.

He closed his eyes.

* * *

 _"What do you mean, you don't have time tonight?"_

 _"I'm sorry, Lis. My private tutor asked me over and we really need to go through some stuff."_

 _"That's the third day in a row, Dean."_

 _"Yeah—I know. But he's already waiting for me, so…"_

 _"So what? Just call him and put it off until tomorrow! You've been going through stuff with him every single day. And that's great. But one day off won't hurt. And I really want to see you!"_

 _"Yeah, but—I've already promised him I would come over. He's already ordered pizza for us and all."_

 _"Oh, he's ordered pizza. Well, then."_

 _"Lis—"_

 _"Seriously, Dean? You put math first? Math? Before_ me? _What kind of math is it that you two are doing exactly? I'm really starting to wonder."_

 _"What do you mean?"_

 _"You know what I mean! I'm starting to wonder if your so-called private tutor really is some hot older girl that you're screwing!"_

 _"C'mon, Lis, don't be ridiculous."_

 _"Oh, now I'm ridiculous. So, tell me, Dean. What's the second binominal formula?"_

 _"Uh—"_

 _"I thought so. You know what, Dean?"_

 _"Lis—"_

 _"Maybe I'll just go to the club with the girls tonight. Have some fun for once. And you—you can do whatever it is you're really doing with your summer affair!"_

Dean awoke to the ring of the doorbell.

Exhaustion must've literally knocked him out. He couldn't even remember falling asleep on the couch. What he did remember though was the dream he'd just had. Maybe reoccurring nightmare was more fitting. Except that this conversation really had happened. Dozing, he'd been going through Lisa's and his argument for the thousandth time.

 _Summer affair._

He thought about Cas' hand on his arm earlier. Squeezing. A little too long to be a casual touch between friends.

Dean shuddered.

He rolled off the couch and sleepily trotted to the door.

"Your Dad's not home?"

Lisa stepped in and kissed him on the cheek.

Dean was baffled for a second. He'd totally forgotten about their date.

"Uh—no, he isn't home", Dean said, closing the door. "He's been out hunting for a few days now. Should return by the end of the week. At least that's what he said the last time he called from god knows where."

"So, we're home alone." Lisa winked at him. "That's convenient."

"Heh."

Automatically, they both fell into their happy-couple-routine. Dean's spontaneous idea of the evening involved watching some kind of chick-flick Lisa was desperate to see, while stuffing his face with some popcorn. And afterwards they'd have the obligatory make out session. Maybe more. He repeated his plan in his mind, trying to make it sound less like _I got up, brushed my teeth, had some toast and left for work._

They sat down on the couch and Lisa started talking about some argument with her Mum that she'd had this afternoon. Dean didn't really listen. It wouldn't be long until she'd start asking questions about what had happened today. After all that was why she really was here. She friggin' _loved_ gossip.

And really, as the evening progressed, the only thing Dean found himself unable to do on autopilot was keeping Lisa's curiosity towards Cas at bay.

"So our math teacher is your new neighbor. Wow."

She paused to munch on some popcorn, head resting comfortably on Dean's shoulder.

 _Yup,_ he answered in mind. _And by the way, he's also the guy you unknowingly accused me of having a summer affair with._

"Actually—why have I never noticed him over the summer when you and me met at your place? Not like we've met a lot." She playfully nudged his shoulder. "You've been too busy with your math guy."

Dean winced. He remembered desperately shoving his math notes in Lisa's face to prove to her that he'd really been doing math all along. She'd believed him after quietly reading them. From there on they'd referred to his private tutor simply as Dean's 'math guy'. Now she really didn't need to know that said 'math guy' that Dean had continued to put before Lisa was actually hot as fuck.

"Well." Dean cleared his throat. "As far as I know Cas—uhm— _Mr. Novak_ rarely leaves the house. Probably busy studying books or solving some kind of high-fashioned math problem all day. You only could've seen him work in the garden. He does that a lot. Even though he's scared of bees. Which is a little weird, I guess. But that's just how he is. He's a weird, dorky—"

"And what about a wife? Doesn't he have kids?"

"Uh, not that I know of."

"Huh. Strange."

"Yeah."

Lisa put her focus back on the movie. After a while she turned to Dean, full-bodied. Dean knew what was coming now.

"So—why did you run away from class today? You promised me to stop with that this year. I'm disappointed, Dean. You could have showed Mr. Novak what you've learned from your math guy."

Dean blushed and rubbed his cheek. "Uh—yeah. That would've been cool."

"So? Why did you do it?"

"I—I." Dean thought hard. He should've prepared something. Why hadn't he prepared something? Now he had to improvise. "I—I had a _situation_ , Lis."

Lisa stared at him. "Excuse me?"

"God, it's not that hard to understand, okay? Gabe's been going on and on about your red panties and exploding ass and what not and I just—had a situation, okay!"

 _"Dean!"_ Lisa snorted with laughter. "Okay—first of all, I will personally kick Gabriel's butt tomorrow. And secondly—why didn't you just _tell_ me?"

"Yeah, sure. 'Lis, sorry for letting you down, but my dick comes first'. You would've liked that?"

"Yes?" She grinned at him and kissed his nose. "I would have."

Dean only grumbled in reply.

"Why didn't you come back, though? After you—you know—took care of your situation?"

"Dunno. Didn't want to answer any stupid questions, I guess."

She smiled, contended. "That's okay, Dean. I've told anyone you didn't feel good, anyway. There will be no stupid questions." She turned to the screen again, snuggling against his chest. "Thank you for being honest with me."

"Y—yeah. You're welcome."

They didn't talk much for the rest of the evening. The movie bubbled on and Lisa was enjoying Dean's presence with a sweet smile, gasping at all the dramatic plot twists and telling some crazy gossip about one of her girlfriends during the boring parts. From time to time, Dean dozed off.

Later on Dean's attention was temporarily revived by Lisa's naked legs warped around his body. They lay on his bed and Dean was ready to go all the way. But he wasn't _entirely_ ready. Though he tried his best to cover up the obvious non-excitement downstairs with an overly extended foreplay. Lisa had spent many nights with Dean, and even though during summer holidays there'd been some problems, he'd never taken _that_ long before.

"We don't have to", she breathed between two lazy kisses. "It's been a long day, Dean."

And Dean had no choice but to swallow down his manly pride. Though of course he'd done a fair amount of protest before that. She'd assured him that everything was okay before turning herself around to sleep next to him in his narrow bed, leaving Dean to his embarrassed, confused feelings. She was wrong.

 _Nothing_ was okay.

* * *

As Dean slowly nodded off he had no chance of fighting off the images of steaming hot cups of tea.

Cas and his three opened buttons. Intently listening to Dean's stories about Bobby El Cantante, whom the teacher no doubt would meet sooner or later at school. Every now and then Cas had given an amused huff or he'd giggled. Suddenly Dean had found himself telling one funny story after another. Just to chase after that smile appearing on Cas' face every so often.

"That one time when Bobby made Sammy a what he called _herbal tea,_ and it turned out to be—"

And those blue, blue eyes gazing at him.

"—which made Sam all funny. Never seen him so high before."

"Of course you can still visit me, Dean", Cas had assured him later. "I do consider you a close friend."

He had even met Dean's eyes in that firm way of his, but Dean—

He just didn't buy it.

When they'd said good-bye at Cas' door, Cas had reached for Dean's arm and held it for a long moment. It had not felt as tight as when he'd pulled Dean aside, but more cautious and hesitant, a gentle touch that had made Dean smile like some 12-year-old girl talking to its crush for the first time, and had made him actually feel kind of sick in his stomach for a moment. It may have been nothing but an ordinary good-luck-moment between two friends, but it sure had been something else to Dean.

Basically Dean's heart had stopped. Dean had suddenly remembered his own words. _I like being with you. I like you._ He'd wondered if Cas had gotten that the wrong way. Or what even the right way was. Dean liked Cas a _lot._ Strange enough, in that moment part of him _hoped_ Cas had gotten it wrong. And that he'd been acting out on it.

That small gesture of comfort had deeply surprised Dean, because usually, Cas didn't seem all too familiar with physical contact. Had he meant to soothe Dean's concerns towards the upcoming school year? Had he thought of Dean's mostly absent father and had wanted to reach out to him?

Dean was pretty sure he hadn't meant to make him get hot all over.

It wasn't _healthy_ that Cas' touch had agitated Dean into a state of adrenaline-rushed confusion.

It wasn't _right_ that Dean couldn't get the feeling of his grip out of his mind and it was virtually hysterical, a product of Dean's overused nerves, that he in conclusion wondered what it would feel like to be hugged by that man.

As Dean slowly nodded off he had no chance of fighting off the images of steaming hot cups of tea.

Cas and his three opened buttons. Intently listening to Dean's stories about Bobby El Cantante, whom the teacher no doubt would meet sooner or later at school. Every now and then Cas had given an amused huff or he'd giggled. Suddenly Dean had found himself telling one funny story after another. Just to chase after that smile appearing on Cas' face every so often.

"That one time when Bobby made Sammy a what he called _herbal tea,_ and it turned out to be—"

And those blue, blue eyes gazing at him.

"—which made Sam all funny. Never seen him so high before."

"Of course you can still visit me, Dean", Cas had assured him later. "I do consider you a close friend."

He had even met Dean's eyes in that firm way of his, but Dean—

He just didn't buy it.

When they'd said good-bye at Cas' door, Cas had reached for Dean's arm and held it for a long moment. It had not felt as tight as when he'd pulled Dean aside, but more cautious and hesitant, a gentle touch that had made Dean smile like some 12-year-old girl talking to its crush for the first time, and had made him actually feel kind of sick in his stomach for a moment. It may have been nothing but an ordinary good-luck-moment between two friends, but it sure had been something else to Dean.

Basically Dean's heart had stopped. Dean had suddenly remembered his own words. _I like being with you. I like you._ He'd wondered if Cas had gotten that the wrong way. Or what even the right way was. Dean liked Cas a _lot._ Strange enough, in that moment part of him _hoped_ Cas had gotten it wrong. And that he'd been acting out on it.

That small gesture of comfort had deeply surprised Dean, because usually, Cas didn't seem all too familiar with physical contact. Had he meant to soothe Dean's concerns towards the upcoming school year? Had he thought of Dean's mostly absent father and had wanted to reach out to him?

Dean was pretty sure he hadn't meant to make him get hot all over.

It wasn't _healthy_ that Cas' touch had agitated Dean into a state of adrenaline-rushed confusion.

It wasn't _right_ that Dean couldn't get the feeling of his grip out of his mind and it was virtually hysterical, a product of Dean's overused nerves, that he in conclusion wondered what it would feel like to be hugged by that man.


	4. Pick-Up

**Chapter 4**

A couple of days passed, and Dean slowly made his way back to normal.

He visited Biology, Geography, English and the other classes regularly, which made him feel a little better about himself and Lisa was pretty impressed. It was only math class Dean avoided like hell. But no big deal, though. He was one step ahead of his classmates anyway. And he totally didn't fasten his walk whenever he passed Cas' house or anything. No, absolutely no big deal there, everything was perfectly normal again.

It was Thursday morning and time for math class—Gabe, Meg, Lisa and his other classmates were probably bored as hell learning all about the binomial formulas—when Dean decided to pay Bobby a visit.

Moving down the stone stairs leading to the school's dusty, crammed heating room, Dean noticed the school's principal Mr. Fergus Crowley watching him closely from upstairs. Crowley was a serious bully. And within living memory he'd had it in for Dean.

 _Sonofabitch._

A second later Dean forgot about the unpleasant encounter again. Bobby's favorite song La Cucaracha was hammering through the heavy cellar door. The booming bass was shaking the concrete floor to the beat.

"Hey! Buddy!" Dean shouted above the noise.

But he received no reaction from the sombrero-wearing janitor. Rocking back and forth to the deafening sounds, Bobby was working on some wires again— _What's his job exactly,_ Dean sometimes wondered, having seen Bobby perform only a very limited amount of different tasks—when Dean pulled the plug of the out-of-date transistor radio.

"Ay!"

Bobby turned around.

His face immediately lit up.

Dean grinned. "You sure that's even allowed? Throwing your private _siesta_ down here?"

"I don't give a rat's shit what or what not Fergus Crowley says, _mi hijo."_

"Well said", Dean replied, suspecting a mutual dislike there, though.

"Boy, that _puto vago_ is up my ass lately. I'm telling you. Says I'm selling drugs to the kids here and wants to catch me in the act. Get rid of me. Like I'm some parasite."

"But you _do_ sell drugs to them, man."

"Touché."

Bobby paused to carry some heavy wires around and pick up new ones. "Well, _mi pequeño,_ I still got some of the stuff I bought in Mexico last weekend. Saved some of the good junk just for you. That was a trip, I'm telling you. Didn't think I'd make it back."

He looked at Dean, checking if he was listening. He certainly was.

Bobby continued with sparkling eyes. "I was driving through the burning hot desert, Tijuana long behind me, the border a few miles ahead. Then I passed this crazy fella, ha, wearing nothing but whitish underpants and holding a small-calibre shotgun, protecting his broken RV or somethin'. Wouldn't want to mess with that fellow." Bobby shook his head. " _Jesucristo._ That's Mexico, Dean."

A good forty minutes later—just in time for the ending of math class—Dean made his way upstairs again. A totally inconspicuous plastic bag packed with White Widow weed hidden in his hoodie's pocket. The finest dope in the world. _Loco weed,_ according to Bobby.

"Hello, darling."

Dean winced in surprise. He looked up and found Crowley standing on the exact same spot he'd stood at before, hands in the pockets of his black coat.

"Dean Winchester. Please. Would you be so kind as to empty your pockets for me?"

Dean stuffed the plastic bag inside his sleeve. "Yeah—uh, sure."

And he emptied his leather jacket's pocket. Nothing earth-shattering to be found.

Crowley smiled, smugly. "Fascinating. Now, tell me, Dean Winchester. Are you El Cantante's drug peddler or _are you not?"_

He screamed the last few words, face turning an angry red, but Dean remained unimpressed.

"No, 'f course not, sir." Dean showed his most innocent smile, the one he saved up for exactly these occasions. Crowley squinted at him, suspiciously. "I'm just a regular student like any other. Except that I'm friends with the janitor. Big deal. We have history."

"Wow. Tell me more."

For a moment they just stared at each other. Eventually Dean made a hesitant move to leave.

"Not so fast, young man", Crowley immediately called out. "Don't you dare think I am not well aware of your oh-so clever math skipping technique. I see you, Dean Winchester." Crowley clicked his tongue. "Using the cluelessness of a new teacher like that. Not a nice way. I thought you were better than that. Now. I'm afraid Mr. Novak and me, we're going to have a nice little chat soon."

Dean almost had a heart attack.

Fuck— _no._

"That's right, boy."

Crowley slowly backed off, satisfied.

"Beware of the king."

Dean swallowed hard. He carried on with a hollow feeling in his stomach, his steps echoing in the empty halls. Lunch break was nearly over and Dean made a quick decision of where to go next. He knew that soon enough crowds of students and teachers would flood the hallways. And Dean wanted to avoid running into _Mr. Novak_ at all costs.

Dean left the school building and—after crossing the parking lot—reached a small, remote area, where students usually hung out to smoke. People should have left by now, though, since the next class was about to start soon. He wasn't surprised to find Gabe still sticking around, joined by Sam and his girlfriend Jess.

As usual, Gabe and Sam were playing basketball and Dean noticed with amusement that Jess had apparently joined the game. Dean watched Jess dribbling as if she'd never done anything else in her life. Easily surpassing Gabe. Making her way around Sam. And finally coming to a halt just in front of the hoop.

She scored effortlessly.

"Oh, come on!" Gabe cried out.

"What did I tell ya, man? She's a pro!" Sam roared and swung his lanky legs over to his girlfriend.

Making his way towards the group, Dean couldn't wipe the smile off his face. _What a dorky family we are._

Dean had known Gabe since primary school. They'd gotten along from the very first day, Dean instantly being drawn to that short boy who'd always seemed to be up to no good. Even though no one would ever come close to Sammy, in a way Dean did see Gabe as his brother.

Jess spotted Dean first. "Oh, Dean, hey! We've been looking for you!"

It was still a mystery to Dean how Sam and her had actually gotten together. Sam refused to spill the beans on how he'd managed to win her heart. You could tell that Sam and Jess were also each other's best friend, though, they're happiness radiating whenever they were with each other. Dean hated to admit it, but they were downright adorable together.

"You just missed some major ass-kicking, man", Sam laughed.

Gabe half-jokingly glared at him in response.

"I wouldn't let the girl lose, would I?"

"How very old-fashioned of you", Jess simply replied and turned to Sam, who had taken her hand. She rewarded him with one of her most beautiful smiles.

Gabe rolled his eyes, focusing on Dean instead. "So, anyway. I've missed you in math, buddy. Again. You know, if you're planning on quitting it altogether, then I think you should have a chat with our dear Mr. Crowley first."

"Yeah, shut up, Gabe."

Dean had been hoping that Gabe would eventually get that the whole math situation wasn't available for public teasing. But this was _Gabe._ Luckily, Dean remembered that he was carrying the perfect change of topic in his very own pocket. He pulled out the weed.

"Hey, guys. Wanna come over on Friday?"

Gabe eagerly grabbed the small package.

"Man, Bobberoz never fails to amaze me!"

Jess looked over Gabe's shoulder and joined Gabe's excitement. Even Sam was sort of excited. Probably just trying to please Jess, Dean guessed. _Nerd._

Dean grinned.

A house party was just what he needed to get his mind off all things Castiel Novak.

* * *

"Dean. _What_ are you doing?"

"What's it look like, huh? Gonna take a shower. You got a problem with that, _Sam?"_

"Well, yeah. We're already late and—ugh. Never mind, _Dean._ Just do whatever the hell you want."

"Y'know that's what I always do."

Friday morning the two of them got themselves ready for the last school day of the week at St. Tipper High and St. Tipper Middle School.

Dean, being like that, was just slipping into the shower and Sam in reaction decided to leave the house on his own once again. Completely done with his older brother. Sam already was doomed to start most of his days in a pissed-off mood because of Dean's reckless attitude—he definitely wasn't feeling like being late to class all the time because of him on top of it.

Sam was just tying his shoe-laces when the phone rang.

He picked it up.

"Sam Winchester?"

He spoke into the old-fashioned telephone. Static noise was the only response, automatically giving away the person on the other line. Hesitantly, Sam called into the static, not really expecting anything to get through to his father.

"Dad?"

For an eternity all Sammy heard was—well, nothing. Except for water running in the bathroom and deafening static noise. Then, fragments of words inaudibly washed through the line. His father sounded a million miles away, Sam thought, and he felt his stomach drop heavily. Sam covered his free ear with his hand for better understanding, to maybe catch a message from Dad. He listened intently to the scraps of sentences and screwed up his eyes.

"Shot… a… huge moose…"

 _Crack._

"…should've seen it… I'm… best hunter…"

 _Crack._

"… the world—"

Another loud cracking noise in the phone line cut his father off.

For a moment, Sam just continued listening to the sudden silence, hoping for John's voice to somehow come through again, even though the call was clearly over. Sam couldn't catch that that was it. That was _it._ Nearly a whole week without a single word from their Dad and now _this._ His chin began to tremble, and his vision became blurry.

When Dean jumped out of the bathroom a minute later, Sam quickly wiped his tears away and turned away from his older brother.

"What're you still doing here, Sammy?" Dean asked, surprised, while pulling a t-shirt over his head and pointing at the telephone in Sam's hand.

"Did someone call? Who was—"

Dean could save himself any more questions. One look at Sam, who was shaking all over, gave him all the information he needed.

"That sonofabitch."

Dean reached out to tear the phone away from Sam.

"Dean, stop it! The connection's dead! Just _leave_ it!"

The trembling cry of his little brother pierced through Dean's anger like a knife. Dean Winchester could bear a lot of pain, but seeing his little brother cry? That was where he drew the line. Dean then continued talking rather quietly, trying to comfort the sobbing mess that was Sammy with an arm around his shoulder.

"What'd he say?"

"No—nothing, really", Sam sniffed. "He shot a… shot a… moose."

Again, Sammy burst out in tears, unable to say anything more, crying onto Dean's shoulder. Dean didn't need to ask anything else, because he knew his father was an inconsiderate bastard and for that, Dean didn't need no more prove.

So instead of talking, he just held Sammy.

* * *

The brothers spent the next two hours mostly in silence.

Neither one had made another move to go to school after John's phone call.

Since Dean—who was he kidding—didn't care about school all that much anyway, missing two lessons didn't bother him the slightest. Even though he _had_ sort of planned to visit math today and finally face Cas again. Mostly because of what Crowley had said, but still. But, well, it had to wait then.

He knew Sam would secretly be upset about it, though. Sam had only missed school very few times, on the very rare occasions he'd been sick.

Sam had been sitting on the couch for almost an hour now, lost in thoughts, his face an unreadable mask.

Of course, the—mildly-put—difficult situation with their father had always been an issue for the brothers. But never before had they openly expressed how they felt about it, not to anyone and most of all not to each other. John Winchester's absence had—up until this morning— always remained unspoken. Dean had always been busy making a hundred excuses for their Dad's irresponsible behavior, swallowing whatever confusion, anger, hurt or sadness he had been feeling down.

And he'd made sure to look after Sam. Had made sure to make their home _their home._ And by that he'd hoped that his little brother's mind wouldn't dwell on thoughts about Dad. The blind rage Dean had felt when he'd seen Sammy cry, seeing Sammy cry in the first place, and the sickening knowledge their father had been the cause of it, had _always_ been the cause of it—he couldn't deal with any of it.

Suddenly Sam got up, grabbed his bag and books and walked out the door.

"You coming?" He called over his shoulder when Dean made no obvious attempt to follow.

"I don't feel like missing third lesson as well."

Hesitantly, Dean got moving. "Sure you feel up for school today, Sammy? I thought we could go to the lake, have a swim and—"

Sam swirled around. "And what, Dean?"

In a fleeting second, Dean noticed that Sammy's eyes were still red from crying. The look on Sam's face, however, was one of wild determination.

"Talk about Dad? Try to make sense of what he's doing? I'm—I'm just done with it, Dean. I don't want him to affect me anymore."

Sam paused, and looked to the ground. "I know you worry about me, Dean. Just as much as I worry about you. And I've seen your reaction after Dad's phone call. I know you're angry, I know you feel the same way I do. So try and take what happened today as a wake-up call and stop making excuses for him. We have every right to be angry, Dean."

And without giving Dean a chance to reply, Sam walked on.

"Sam, I don't think we're going to make it", Dean said after a while of walking in silence.

Sam hadn't seemed to expect some kind of statement from Dean after his little speech in front of the house, so Dean had just kept his mouth shut for the time being. By now, he had managed to push what happened in a distant corner of his mind, hoping he would soon more or less forget about it. He decided to try and lighten the mood between them, which usually worked best with some decent mocking.

With a fake-quivering voice he went on. "You're gonna miss English class. No _Romeo and Juliet_ for you today, Sammy. I know it's hard to take in at first, man, but trust me, the pain will go away, eventually. Do you need a hug?"

Sam glared at him in response. "Jerk."

Dean's pretty much predictable come-back was drowned out by the sudden roar of an engine.

A brown Chevrolet pickup was pulling up right next to brothers. Dean instantly recognized the car, would always recognize it, everywhere, even between a thousand other Chevys, and it made his stomach curl in embarrassment and nervous anticipation.

"Hello, Dean. Sam."

Cas slightly leaned out of the window, eyes flickering from Dean to Sam and then back to Dean.

He was wearing a neat white shirt and a black tie, which somehow made the blue of his eyes stand out even more. And he had obviously made an attempt in taming his unruly hair, but it still looked as if he'd jumped right out of bed. _Mr. Novak,_ Dean thought, looking at his friend that he currently wasn't on speaking terms with. _Right now he's dressed up as Mr. Novak._

Sam had only met Cas a few times over the summer. He knew about the sort of friendship that had formed between Dean and Cas. But he certainly didn't know about the thing that had happened between them. Or had not happened between them. Dean couldn't know. This week Sam—just like Dean—had also learned that Cas worked as a teacher at their school, but to him it was just a funny coincidence. _And what else would it be to him,_ Dean added in his mind. Not everyone was as fucked up as he was.

"Would you like a lift to school?" Cas asked, giving Dean a polite smile.

Dean found himself holding his breath for a second, half-expecting Cas to add something like _if that's where you're heading of course, you naughty, naughty boy, Dean Winchester, skipping my classes, and all that—_

But in reality Cas' face was completely earnest, showing no trace of any hard feelings towards Dean.

Before Dean could reply, Sam had already passed him, and with a relieved "That would be great, thanks, Mr. Novak", had climbed into the car's backseat.

Well, okay, then.

And as Cas smiled and asked Sammy something school related that Dean didn't give two flying fucks about, he, too, climbed into the Chevy, automatically choosing the front seat. Call it immature, but he never passed on a chance of riding shot-gun. Trouble was that he'd forgotten that he actually was avoiding Cas.

And now he'd have to sit _so fucking close_ to him.

* * *

Seemingly unaffected, Cas released the handbrake, and the three of them slowly wheeled down the rolling country lane. A few minutes later, they hit St. Tipper main road, which led directly to the local school buildings within a few minutes. Still, the ride seemed too long to Dean. A lot could go wrong within a few minutes. A whole fucking lot.

Dean was tensely following the casual back-and-forth dialogue between Sammy and Cas, happily opting himself out of the conversation.

Dean checked on Sam in the side-view mirror.

 _Sammy's cooled down a bit._

Sam was currently discussing his class' upcoming math test with Cas, who was clearly enjoying the math gibble gabble. He was talking about the three binomial formulas as if they were his children or something, eyes glowing warmly and a little smile playing around his lips. Dean watched Cas from the corner of his eyes, because it was impossible _not_ to watch. A sight that could easily save his day.

Inwardly, Dean thanked him. For, well, just being the way he was. He felt a strange wave of affection towards Cas, thinking about the way he'd touched Dean's arm—until the conversation suddenly took an unpleasant turn.

"Well, possibly Dean can help you with that", Cas stated, conversationally. "I do recognize his logical talents."

Dean's little smile died. Cas' side-glanced at him.

Dean thinned his lips, intently staring out of the front window as if the three of them were driving right through some action-scene out of a _Tarantino_ movie.

"Sam, your brother is very talented", Cas went on, eyes back on the road. "Dean has truly internalized the mysteries of fraction arithmetic in the course of the last weeks. It was astonishing. But I didn't need to perform any wonders." Cas considered his words for a moment. "Dean's potential has been blatant to me."

Dean could feel his face getting hotter each second.

Why did it feel like Cas was talking to him, not to Sam?

"He is—incredible", Cas went on. Dean felt his short glances burning his skin. "Very intelligent. And funny. A 'good catch', as people say. And he knows all about the human ways. Whenever I don't know how to approach a situation, I just ask Dean for his advice. I'd say: 'Dean, how do I order pizza on the phone?' And he would just tell me: 'Well, you call the pizza place. And then you order the pizza you want to eat. Boom. Genius.'" Cas giggled, shaking his head. "He is—he truly is one of a kind."

Cas then fell into silence, his face all dreamy.

Dean just sat on the passenger seat, beet-red, eyes closed.

 _What. The. Fuck._

Cas had just called him a good catch. Out loud. In front of Sam. _Cas had just called him a good catch._

Cas didn't seem to expect any kind of reaction, though. Everything had been said, it seemed, and just like that, he disappeared into his own world. After a few seconds, and several inner nervous breakdowns later, Dean dared opening his eyes, and nervously checked on Sammy's reflection in the Chevy's side-mirror again. Now, Sam's brows were pretty much sky-high. He looked pretty much weirded-the-fuck-out. Dean couldn't blame him.

"Told you we've been—we've been hanging out", Dean reluctantly explained to Sam, glancing over his shoulder. "Once or twice."

Cas laughed at that.

Dean silenced him with a look that could've killed somebody.

* * *

After fleeing from the car—and accidentally making beyond awkward eye-contact with Cas— Dean, wearing a Led Zep t-shirt, was just slipping into the school's spacious entrance hall when an angry-sounding dialogue made him stop and cock his ears.

He quickly identified the two familiar voices as Crowley's and Bobby's. Curiously, Dean sneaked up to the corridor on the right, finding this word-battle way more interesting than some old frump raving about Shakespeare's _Othello_ in English class.

Hearing his own name being shouted, Dean froze in his movement.

"Whatever you are doing with that Dean Winchester boy, it needs to come to an end! From now on, there will be no more students allowed at your workstation. No students _at all._ I put a ban on that, El Cantante!"

In response, Dean only caught an amused snort from Bobby.

"This is not a joke", Crowley continued more quietly, more intimidating, and Dean heard one of them take a quick step. "If you refuse to comply, El Cantante, I'll give you the sack like nobody's business. Do you understand? I am the king of this hell hole! And you're giving me the strong impression, honey bear, that you are highly underestimating what I'm able to do to you. I am your boss. I am everyone's boss. And you don't have any other choice but to—"

"Yeah, yeah, the world is at your feet, blah, blah", Bobby grumbled.

There was an offended gasp. Dean could have sworn there was a pushing sound.

"How dare you disrespecting me like that, El Cantante, how very _dare_ you."

"Shut ya face, _camarada._ I'm the only _idiota_ willin' to do this bitch of a job, anyway. You leave me in peace, _mi amigo,_ and we'll have no problem. Dean and I, we're good friends. He's a good boy and he's got his very own bucket of crap to carry, he doesn't need your macho power play on top of it. Dean is family. Ain't nobody taking that away from me. At the very least _you._ That clear?"

For a moment, all Dean heard was heavy breathing and his own heart hammering loudly against his chest. Then, Bobby dangerously lowered his voice.

"I asked you, if I made myself clear."

"Yes", Crowley said through clenched teeth. "As clear as the glass of the dozens of half-empty Jack Daniel's bottles you're storing under your work bench. Interesting story, by the way. Touching. Don't forget to invite me to your and Dean Winchester's wedding."

 _"_ Just shut your cakehole, asshat _",_ Bobby concluded.

Shortly afterwards Dean heard footsteps slowly departing towards the school yard.

"This is going to have serious consequences!" Crowley yelled as soon as he knew Bobby in safe distance.

"Kiss my wrinkled ass, sir!"

The corridor fell into silence.

Dean let out his breath. He hadn't even realized he'd been holding it. He took a few moments to recollect his thoughts and eventually headed for his halfway-over English class, knowing that grumpy old Bobby, who'd worked at St. Tipper High for about two years now, probably got himself into serious trouble, but man, if that hadn't been touching as fuck.

Whew.

Dean wiped his forehead.

A lot of praise for one day.

He would need serious amounts of booze tonight—at their little house party—to wash all of those _feelings_ out of his system again.


	5. Cassie

**Chapter 5**

Lisa approached the shabby wood cottage, crossing the meadow in the dark.

She was all prettied up, the length of her slim legs emphasized by a black mini skirt and golden high-heels. Her black hair was smoothly framing her cleavage, well wrapped up in a red wool jumper, but as much as she'd made an effort, her fake curls still couldn't compete with the natural beauty of Jessica Moore, who was now welcoming Lisa at the Winchester's door.

The two girls, who didn't feel a lot of sympathy for the other, engaged in small-talk while casually eyeing up each other's outfits. She was just dropping by before going clubbing with her girlfriends, Lisa explained her over-dressiness to the tall, ash-blond girl in a loose sweater while they were taking place on the couch.

Lisa huddled up against Dean. He was still wearing his hot band shirt and a dirty pair of jeans, spreading a light smell of alcohol and cigarettes, hair all tousled in that particular way she loved so much. It made Dean look like some hot rock star. _Her_ rock star.

"Hey, babe, how're you doing", Dean distractedly greeted her with a little peck on the cheek.

One arm he put around her shoulders, the other one was busy holding a can of beer. His fourth. Fifth, maybe. Dean had already stopped counting.

Dean, Sam and Jess were just listening to another one of Gabe's oh-so funny stories. One of the extra crazy ones he only came up with when alcohol was involved. At some point, nobody even cared anymore if they were made up or not. Gabe paused for effect, and then finally dropped the raunchy punchline. Everyone seemed to find the joke hysterical—except for Lisa, who felt like the fifth wheel.

Dean didn't seem to care about her right now. She didn't like it. It reminded her of his distant summer holidays self. It reminded her of _math guy._

Lisa noticed a bag of weed lying between dozens of empty beer cans on the couch table, and her mood sunk even more.

"Dean?"

Dean turned to her, still laughing. He'd forgotten she was even there. "Yeah?"

She frowned at him. "You're not going to smoke all of that, are you?"

Her voice sounded extra bitter mixed into the cheerful laughter of the others. Dean met her concerned gaze, forcing his face to grow serious.

"We just wanna celebrate the week-end a bit, Lis. You know— _relax._ It's been a hard week for all of us." Dean paused to take a look around his friends, searching for help. "Of course I'm not gonna smoke _all_ of it."

"Alone", Gabe added with a smirk.

Dean couldn't suppress a giggle at that.

With a judgmental glare, Lisa scolded Dean and wiped the smirk off Gabe's face.

"You _know_ I hate that stuff, Dean. But of course you're ignoring what's best for you, right? Especially when you _know_ it would mean a lot to me. One day, this stuff is going to kill your brain cells, you'll see. Isn't alcohol enough for you? Do you really need that garbage to come down?"

Dean's head spun slightly. "Uh—no, but. It's fun."

"It's _fun?"_ Lisa angrily freed herself from Dean's arm and went on. "Are you serious? How drunk are you? Your breath smells like a brewery! And what about Sam and Jessica? They're _fourteen_. Don't you think that's a little early to stray from the right path?"

"Lisa, I don't think one drag's gonna kill—"

"Dean, let me finish. For your information, what you're doing—it's wrong. And just tell me what _you_ even need to relax from. You hardly even _went_ to class this week. Even though you promised me to better yourself. You _promised_. And honestly? You should be embarrassed to behave like that in front of your neighbor, Dean. He probably doesn't even know that you're part of our class. And what did you even study math for so hard? You don't even care! It was all for nothing, when you're behaving like a reckless _prick!"_

Sam, Jess, and Gabe awkwardly stared at the ground, the Stones doodling happily in the background. Dean pulled a confused face, only having caught something about his neighbor— _Cas_ —and him being a prick, and put his half-empty beer can on the couch table to the many other ones.

"What—what now? D'you say something 'bout Cas?"

Lisa hissed in a sharp breath, speechless. The others stared at Dean, confused.

"That is all you've got to say for yourself? Who is _Cas?"_

 _Crap._

"Dean?" Lisa asked, horrified. "Cas… as in _Cassie Robinson?"_

Dean snorted with laughter. Couldn't help it. Cassie had been Dean's first girlfriend, but that had happened ages ago, and it was weird, sort of absurd, that Lisa even remembered it. Dean was drunker than he'd originally calculated on, he vaguely realized. Lisa jumped off the couch, hands up in the air as if Dean was a giant, fat bug. She then pointed at Dean, yelling.

"I knew it! I knew you've been seeing someone! I just never thought—oh, it's not even Cassie, is it, it's someone else! You're laughing at me, thinking I'm so stupid, right, Dean, but the problem is, _Dean,_ that I'm not. You and studying math every single day, during holidays, that's just—a joke! I've _trusted_ you!"

"Well, according to what you've just said, you didn't, really."

Lisa gasped, eyes wide. _"Dean."_

The others intently examined the ground. A bitter love song was playing in the background. _'And you won't care at all. You'll find another girl or maybe more to pass the time away'._ Gabe, Sam and Jess had problems controlling themselves. Dean saw Gabe's grin, and giggled again, while half-heartedly grabbing for Lisa.

"Lis, c'mere. You're overreacting."

"Don't. Touch me!" Lisa shrieked. "You're grossing me out. Why don't you go and call your _Cas_ girl _,_ or whoever it is, maybe _she_ will want to get wasted with you and put up with all of your crap! Good-bye, Dean!"

"Lisa—"

A sudden knock on the door interrupted them. For a moment, there were only Lisa's loud breaths and the music to hear.

"That must be the girls", Lisa eventually muttered. "Told them I'd be waiting at your place." She continued her way towards the door, fingers shaking.

As Dean got up from the couch, he took a quick look in Sam's direction, but his brother had gone over to the kitchen. Had probably fled. He could hear him rustling around there, joined by Gabe and Jess, whispering. Man, Dean already knew that Sam would tease him forever because of what had just happened.

Eager to get out of here, Lisa tore the door wide open.

From his current position, Dean wasn't able to make out anything but the person's silhouette. He could tell though that it was not one of Lisa's girlfriends waiting on the doorstep.

"Oh, um, hello… Mr. Novak?"

Dean froze. And then lunged to the doorway.

When Cas came into view, Dean couldn't help but notice the friggin' ugly sweater the man was wearing. It was one of those thick, hairy ones. Looking like a giant caterpillar that had wrung its way around Cas' upper body. In a split second, Dean's eyes also fell on some bread crumbs that were unattractively scattered around Cas' mouth. Typical. Not like Dean had been staring or anything.

"Good evening, Lisa. Hello, Dean", Cas greeted, unsmilingly, shooting a glance at Lisa, before his eyes eventually rested on Dean.

All summer, Cas had never once come over to Dean's place. What a _perfect_ moment he had chosen, Dean thought, sweating. If Dean had been more sober, his pulse rate probably would've soared up to the sky.

"Hey, Cas. What's the deal?"

A surprised expression flashed over Lisa's face. She turned to Dean.

 _"Cas?"_ She asked. " _That's_ Cas?"

Dean flushed. Cas' eyes turned into confused slits. Lisa made it sound like Dean had been slobbering over Cas in front of her, which he totally hadn't.

"Y—yeah", Dean stuttered. "Told you. Overreacting."

Lisa just stared at Dean, speechless.

Eventually, Cas cleared his throat.

"Uhm—Dean, I wanted to talk to you about this morning." Cas smiled, sort of shyly. "It's funny. I remembered some exercise sheets we went through a while back, and I wanted to propose you to show them to your broth—"

"Lisa", Dean quickly interrupted, cutting him off. Sammy was bad enough, but he really didn't need _Lisa_ to hear Cas' passionate _Romeo-and-Juliet-_ like speech of this morning's car ride. "You wanted to leave?"

Dean only realized the crudeness of his words as he saw the hurt in Lisa's eyes, her face growing into a stiff mask.

"Y—yeah", she muttered.

Her eyes paced back and forth between Dean and Cas for a moment, unsteadily, trying to understand what had just happened, before she turned around and hurried down the hill. Away from this. All of this. Every now and then, she turned around to check on them, bewildered. Dean caught a breath.

"Why don't you come inside for a sec?"

He grabbed Cas' sleeve, curtly dragging him inside the cottage.

The door snapped shut.

* * *

For a moment neither of them spoke, Dean watching Cas taking in the Winchester's living room. When Cas opened his mouth to say something, the music turned up a notch, making him blink in surprise.

Dean was painfully aware of the mess in front of them. Cigarette smoke was heavily lying in the air, beer cans were scattered all over the table, lazily discarded pizza cartons were lying in the corner of the room and popcorn was spilled all over the floor ("Whoops, imma clean that up later", Gabe had exclaimed after accidentally dropping the bowl).

Dean wished Cas would've called beforehand. He would've died, totally would've had a heart attack, but at least he would've had a chance to prepare the room for Cas a bit. And to maybe put on clean pants. He swallowed his embarrassment up and turned to face Cas, whose gaze seemed to be fixed on the popcorn at his feet.

"Um yeah, it's kinda gross here right now. Sorry 'bout that. We're having some friends over. Obviously. Hard week and all that."

"You shouldn't throw that away", Cas said.

Noticing Dean's confused expression, he pointed at the floor.

"The popcorn, I mean. Squirrels are quite fond of it. My grandmother and I used to go to the movies a lot and afterwards on the way home, we fed the rest of our popcorn to the squirrels in the park. Quite demanding little creatures", Cas huffed, apparently amused by the memory.

Dean had the quick vision of Cas sitting in the park with his grandma. Her solving crossword puzzles and Cas reading in one of his math books. Sometimes he'd come across some hilarious mathematical problem and they would share a good laugh. _Oh, Isaac Newton sure knows how to tell a good arithmetic joke, doesn't he, granny?_

Dean coughed slightly. He only now realized that Cas was staring at his fingers, which were still clutching his sweater's sleeve. Dean let go of him, awkwardly rubbing his neck.

"So, Cas—is there anything specific you wanted to talk about—besides your passionate _Romeo and Juliet_ speech from this morning?"

Crap. Dean hadn't actually meant to say that out loud.

Cas smiled, shyly.

"Yes. There is something else, actually. I've thought about your brother's problems with the binomials. That's why I came here."

Cas dug in his jeans' pocket and pulled out a folded piece of paper.

"These are said exercises we went through together a while back. I believe these could be quite useful for your brother. He's a clever little guy. We've talked about this mathematical topic in the car this morning, your brother and me." Cas smirked, looking down at his feet. "Before I held my—uhm—passionate speech, I guess."

Dean absently stuffed the sheet in his pocket and nodded, heart crazily jumping. "Thanks, Cas. You're awesome."

Cas paused for a moment, mouth-opened. Frowning slightly.

"Thank you. Other than that, I was wondering if you might want to come over to my place sometime again. Only if you feel like it, of course. We could practice for your class' upcoming math test about radiation formula. I'm sure you will understand the topic fast."

Surprisingly, Cas sounded absolutely earnest, and Dean wondered if he even knew that he'd been purposely ditching his math class the whole week. Cas didn't seem bothered in the slightest.

"And—we didn't talk much lately", Cas quickly added, barely audible.

Only now he dared looking up into Dean's eyes.

Oh.

 _Oh._

Well, scratch that last part. Cas _was_ bothered.

He knew very well what was going on.

Well—he knew _something_ was going on, at least.

In the background, Dean heard clinking of glasses and distant giggling, snapping him right back into reality.

 _Sonofabitch_.

"Yeah, sure. Coming over to your place. Sounds good. Great idea. Let's do that. But you really need to leave now, C—"

"Mr. Novak, what a pleasant surprise!"

Gabe blared, an indisputable whiff funneling out of the open kitchen door.

* * *

"I have a theory on aliens."

Surrounded by wads of smoke and the sound of classic rock pieces, the five of them had somehow ended up vegging out on the couch, motionlessly.

Gabe, Sam, Dean and Cas were squished together on the cozy cushion, Dean being way to drunk not to enjoy the feel of Cas' thighs pressed up against his own. Jess was dozing to their feet, leaning her back against Sammy's knees. Every once in a while, Dean tried to wrap his mind around the fact that Cas had somehow ended up hanging out with them, but it was of no success. In a normal world, it didn't seem possible. But this wasn't the regular world.

 _Why don't you go and call your Cas girl,_ Lisa's voice fought its way into his mind. _Maybe she will want to get wasted with you and put up with all of your crap!_

Ironically enough, Dean had actually ended up getting wasted with his _Cas girl._ And, well—Cas did put up with a lot of his crap. But frankly, even though he knew that, technically, all of this—feeling Cas' thighs against his own, loving it, constantly putting Cas before Lisa et cetera—was _wrong,_ Dean couldn't care at all right now.

Not when everything was just so _snugly_ and _nice_. His Dad's old tapes had never sounded so _amazing._ And Cas' look was just too funny to ignore or even handle, all leaned back, eyes closed, giving a quite smile. He looked like some new-age hippie. The fact that it hadn't taken anything more than a can of beer and second-hand pot smoking to get him into this state was pretty damn hysterical. Dean giggled, checking out Cas next to him with red-rimmed eyes. Fascinated by the sense of calm radiating from him.

"Oh yeah?" Sam lazily reacted to Gabe's statement after what had felt like an eternity.

"Yeah. It may sound stupid at first, but if you think about it, it really makes sense, guys. Like, I don't believe in supernatural stuff in general, but, like, what if they came from space at some point and live around us now? You know, maybe even invisible and stuff? Like, how could we know? What if they're simply not visible?"

"Wow", Sam breathed. "You mean like ghosts? That actually seems kind of legit. You should write that down."

"I know, right? But then I was like, what would they achieve with this? Studying us? Like, we're not that interesting or something. It'd be pretty lame for them here. Maybe they're just bored, 'cause the universe is infinite and stuff. And we're their little entertainment show."

"Woah. That totally blew my mind." Sam made an exploding sound.

"Maybe we should just talk to them. About their feelings", Gabe proposed.

"Yeah", Sam agreed. "Talk to whom?"

"The aliens, dickhead. Let's search them outside. Let's go."

"Yeah, totally."

Nobody moved.

"Maybe there's one in the living room. They're invisible after all."

Gabe laughed out, sluggishly getting up and grabbing Sam's arm.

Dean grumbled as he was squished even closer to Cas, not really complaining, though.

"Ha, sure, as if aliens would live in the Winchester's cottage. It'd be way too dangerous to hang out with hunters, you know, with all the guns and stuff."

"Oh. _Right._ That makes sense."

Sam pulled Jess to her feet, receiving sleepy protest.

"We're going out, looking for some aliens. Even though they're probably invisible, but, like, we don't know for sure", Gabe announced, getting zero reaction from Cas, who was still in his happy-hippie position, nor Dean, who was swaying to and fro with the music, trance-like.

"Sure", Dean hummed, grinning dizzily. "Sure thing I believe in angels."

Gabe snorted, turning to the others. "Guys, I think we've lost him."

"Look at Mr. Novak, though. Mr. Novak? Are you okay?"

"Mhh. Very."

Dean felt Cas shift. Suddenly, his arm was around Dean's shoulders. Heavy. Intimate. Dean gasped, couldn't suppress it, but Cas didn't even open his eyes, or even move aside from that.

Sam, Gabe and Jess noisily left the cottage, laughingly.

Three seconds later, Dean looked around lazily, still accustoming to the feel of basically being held by Cas.

"Where is everyone?"

"Who do you mean", Cas grumbled, eyelids fluttering.

"Huh. I thought I've heard someone talking", Dean said, mildly confused. "Spooky. _Aliens."_

"Mhh. Spooky", Cas repeated. "Nice word, that. _Spooky_. _Spoo-ky_. Ah, yes. Nice indeed."

Dean leaned back and closed his eyes, smiling. He was starting to relax again. This was… _nice._ And buddies put their arms around each other's shoulders, right? Nothing wrong with that. Hell. Nothing wrong with enjoying the feel of it. Dean allowed himself to rest his head on Cas' arm behind his neck, using him as a pillow.

After a while, the old CD-player went still, leaving the two in peaceful silence. First, Dean just listened to Cas' heavy breathing for a couple of minutes, until he let his mind wander.

 _Mary had a little lamb, its fleece was white as snow. And everywhere that Mary went, the lamb was sure to go._

Dean hummed, quietly. The melody was playing in his head, an infinite loop, making him more and more sleepy. Dean thought he'd heard Cas mumble something. With a seemingly enormous effort he lifted his head. His eyes, however, remained shut.

"What did ya say?"

He felt Cas shift on the sofa again, and then, suddenly, his mouth was right next to Dean's ear, his stubble tickling Dean's cheek.

" _Why does the lamb love Mary so?_ _The eager children cry. Why, Mary loves the lamb, you know. The teacher did reply."_

It was the worst singing Dean had ever heard.

"Jeez, Cas."

Dean laughed and made a poor attempt of slapping Cas on the back of his head. But his hand awkwardly landed in Cas' messy curls. How deliciously _soft_ they were. Dean found himself unable to remove his hand again. No big deal, though.

In response to his touch and laugh, Cas chuckled, and pressed his face into Dean's shoulder.

Dizzily, Dean looked at Cas' head from above.

Part of him thinking, _yeah, maybe this_ is _a small deal._

Neither of them said anything for quite a while, Dean running his fingers through Cas' hair again and again. Cas grumbling, cozily and sleepily.

Soon enough, both had dosed off.

* * *

Around two o'clock Dean's conscience slowly came back to life to the soft sound of acoustic guitar music. Dean had no idea how it was possible, but his mind was even more hazy than before his nap. He was hardly there.

As he blinked into the foggy room, disorientated, he felt weirdly cold and left alone. Cas wasn't sleeping on his shoulder anymore. Why not? That'd been nice. Disappointed, Dean found himself all alone on the couch, feeling weirdly vulnerable. He missed the warm sensation of Cas' body and the tender curls in his hand. He missed _Cas._

 _"The Beatles."_

A dreamy voice said, a thousand miles away.

"Long time, no see, as the saying goes."

Dean swung around—and relieve washed all over him as he found Cas standing in front of the dresser, inspecting one of Dean's dusty, forgotten music tapes. Fascinated by it. Thank God, he was still there. Well, he wasn't like Dean after all. Cas didn't _do_ fleeing. At least not to Dean's knowledge, he didn't.

Being stared at, Cas noticed Dean and smiled at him, blue eyes nostalgically gleaming.

"Such a wonderful album. Do you like them, Dean? I do. This album truly brings back the memories. I used to listen to this band all day long in college, when I was by myself in my room. That happened quite a lot, I'm afraid."

"Huh. Well, they're not exactly _Metallica,_ but yeah, I like them. Preferably in small quantities, though. Not all day long."

Nodding, Cas slowly sat down on Dean's bed, devoutly. Lost in thoughts. Cas faced the wooden floor for a few minutes, just listening to the music.

Eventually, Dean rolled off the couch and joined Cas on the bed. Mesmerized, he studied Cas' profile. Cas in his home. With him. On his bed. All comfortable. _Wow._

"It was an interesting journey, my life in college", Cas went on, out of the blue. "Though very straining at times. In college, I've learned to live with solitude. That was a valuable lesson for me, Dean, because building a connection with another person has never been my strength. I admit that. That's why I cherish your company so much. Well, that, and—"

"—your _Romeo and Juliet_ speech. I remember."

Cas smiled, shyly looking up at Dean, folding his hands in his lap. "Yes. _That._ I—I really didn't want to make you uncomfortable this morning. I just—felt like I needed to assure you… how much I _like_ you. Because—this is going to sound wrong, but I've never said it back. Maybe the time I chose was inconvenient, with your brother listening and all, but I still meant all that I've said there, Dean."

Dean stayed quiet for a moment, processing what Cas had just said. Nodding, thoughtfully. Then he snorted with laughter. Cas winced, and turned to him, confused.

"You've 'never said it back'?" Dean repeated Cas' words. "What's that supposed to mean? You mean, like a love confession? I think you've been watching too much TV, Cas."

"Maybe. But I'm not so sure about that anymore. Don't you remember what you've told me on Monday in front of my house?"

Cas' serious tone made Dean shut up.

"That I ate something wrong?" Dean asked.

"Dean. You've told me that you liked me. And I didn't really say anything back."

Cas calmly looked at him. Dean's heart started thudding.

"Dean, I—I don't really know what it means when I tell you that I like you. That is true. I do watch a lot of TV. That is also true. Maybe even too much of it. But on Television, when a person tells the other that they love them, they _have_ to say it back. There is no other way, Dean. They _have_ to. Otherwise there will be confusion and heartbreak."

"Right. But, Cas, I didn't—"

"And then, this past week, when you've been avoiding me, I couldn't help but wonder if I've done something fundamentally wrong. And since you weren't with me anymore and I couldn't ask you for advice, I came up with this probably absolutely off theory in which you've told me that you liked me, like people do on TV, but really, you meant _more_ than that. I just didn't know why else you would be avoiding me. "

Cas' bloodshot eyes looked like troubled seas.

Dean was lost for words.

"Cas, you—I—"

"But, like I've said. It's just a theory. I probably got it all wrong."

Dean swallowed. "You didn't—you're not wrong, Cas. But the thing is, _friends_ don't have to say it back." Dean swallowed again. "You mixed that up with RomCom stuff. That—what you mean—that's for… lovers."

Cas' look shooed to the ground. "Oh."

"Yeah. Oh."

Cas frowned, hesitating. "So… why have you been avoiding me, then, Dean?"

Dammit. Dean ran a hand through his hair. "Uh. Long story, I guess." Unfortunately, the alcohol had loosened his tongue enough to keep him talking. "You sort of touched my arm that day. Hah. No big deal, though. Just freaked out a little there."

Cas nodded, vaguely. "Ah. Yes. That was strange. I wasn't sure why I did that. Still not sure. It didn't feel very… _friendly,_ did it?"

Dean could feel himself blush. "No. Not really."

Cas squinted, wheels turning. "I—I don't understand, Dean. We are _friends_ , though, right? We're not—"

"Not lovers. Nope. Totally not. No amore, _il mio amico_."

"And that warm feeling I get when I'm with you. And that strong feeling I got when I touched your arm. Goosebumps. Rapid heartbeat. Nausea, almost. That happens to _all_ friends?"

Dean almost swallowed his own tongue, glancing at Cas' lips. "Y—yeah. That's a total—buddy thing. Only happens to real good buddies."

Dean saw Cas licking his lips out of the corner of his eye. Damn. "And do friends kiss, Dean? Do they—"

Dean broke Cas off by pressing a kiss on his lips. Just a peck, really. No big d—

Dean backed off as if he'd burned himself, accidentally creating a loud smooching sound. Big deal. _Real_ big. Why the hell had he just done that. Cas' eyes were huge and _Disney_ -like, as if he was a princess and Dean the long-lost prince, who'd just kissed him out of his years-long coma. Quickly, Dean's embarrassed look wandered down Cas' reddened cheeks, and all the way down to his lips again. Dean couldn't believe he'd just kissed these. They were so full, and chapped, and pink.

Cas gasped, quietly.

"Can you—do that again, Dean?"

"No. That was just a—demonstration. That's how friends kiss."

"Oh."

Dean dared looking Cas in the eye. It was obvious that he wasn't really buying Dean's bull-shit right now. Instead, he just repeated his question.

"So… that was a rather short experience, Dean. Enjoyable, though. Can you repeat it? Only— _longer?"_

Dean stared at Cas' lips. Well—

Suddenly, the breadcrumbs in the corner of Cas' mouth fell into Dean's view.

Completely ruining the moment.

Dean tried to keep it together for a second, until he couldn't anymore. Just couldn't.

Dude, he was tense as _hell._ And high. _And_ drunk. And he'd just sort of kissed _Cas._ More than enough reasons to lose it, if you'd ask him. Dean snorted with laughter—way too loudly, but he couldn't help himself—and his nose bumped against Cas' scratchy chest. Confused by the sudden mood change, Cas chuckled, awkwardly, and Dean felt his hesitant hands on his back. Shaken by uncontrollable giggles, Dean supported himself on Cas' shoulders with both hands.

Until he was almost sitting on his lap.

Not really thinking twice about it, Dean simply swung his leg over Cas' thighs and straddled him.

He then lifted his head and looked Cas in the eye, deeply, arms around his neck.

Cas stopped laughing. Stopped smiling. Expecting _something._ Something _longer._ Dean was overwhelmed by Cas' stare and suddenly had no idea what to do anymore, or what he'd even been up to. Hell, he was sitting on _Cas' lap._ Dean coughed slightly, staring at Cas' nose. Except for the Beatles' doodling, it was quiet.

"A good catch, huh?" Dean eventually muttered. "You called me a 'good catch' this morning."

"Yes—I know. My apologies."

"Wasn't accusing you."

"But it was inappropriate."

Dean briefly gesticulated around them with one hand. " _All_ of this is inappropriate, Cas."

Cas smiled, crooked. "Yes. I know. It doesn't feel… friend-like, does it?"

"Mhh. Not really, I'll give you that. But you know what friends _really_ do, Cas?" Dean said, brushing the bread crumbs out of the corner of Cas' mouth with his thumb, while clicking his tongue. "They make sure the other doesn't walk around with bread crumbs sticking to their faces. Look at you, Cas. You're dirty."

Cas' breath hitched at the intimate touch. He looked at Dean's lips, lingering there a while. Then his look quickly shooed down at his own lap. Where Dean was sitting. "Maybe—maybe you should get off of me now, Dean. I'm—"

Dean clearly felt what Cas was getting at. "You've got a boner. A _major_ one."

"I—I'm sorry, Dean. This is extremely inappropriate."

Dean giggled. "You're _really_ dirty, Cas."

Cas couldn't help but giggle, too.

Before they knew it, Cas clumsily fell over on his back, trying to support himself by holding onto Dean, but just ended up pulling Dean down with him, until Dean was lying right on top of Cas. Dean's cheek was pressed against Cas' chest now, and he was giggling like a maniac. Fuck, this—all of this—was eleven kinds of crazy.

"You're hard, too, Dean", Cas noted, giggling.

Dean crawled up Cas' body, until he could look Cas in the eye from above, crossing his arms on Cas' chest. The room was spinning. Fuck, was he high. _They_ were.

"I may be hard for you. But _you're_ in love with me."

Cas looked up at the ceiling, smiling.

"Yeah. I guess I am."

Some cheesy Beatles Song played softly in the background, John Lennon singing them to sleep. Dean smiled, closing his eyes, until Cas' arms were around his back, surprisingly tight. So that was what hugging this man felt like. Dean shivered. _Amazing._ Suddenly, Cas rolled Dean over on the side, man-handled him until he had him vis-à-vis. Dean was surprised at the determination on Cas' face.

"I _am,_ Dean."

"You're just joking", Dean smiled, sleepily.

For a moment, Cas stayed quiet. "What if I kissed you right now", Cas then whispered. "Not like friends do. But like they do in the movies."

"Jokingly?"

"No."

"I don't know. I guess I'd want to remember that in the morning."

Cas hesitated, body tensing. Then he exhaled, relieved. "Ah. You're right. I forgot. You're under the strong influence of alcohol. It can cause black outs and make you regret your intoxicated actions from the night before. A true human classic." Suddenly Cas broke off, and next he sounded upsettingly anxious. "Dean. Will you regret all of this in the morning?"

"Nah, Amy Winehouse", Dean breathed, lazily placing a kiss on Cas' stubbly cheek.

Cas stopped breathing.

"Don't think so. I'd only regret kissing you—like, you know, in the movies or whatever—while being as drunk as my Dad on a bad day. Plus, I'm high. Numb. When we kiss, really kiss, I wanna feel it. All of it."

"Really?"

"Yeah, really, Romeo."

Cas finally let out his breath.

Dean shifted closer to him—as close as possible—clinging to the warm sweater. Cas took him in his arms. Dean hid his face in the crook of Cas' neck, listening to Cas' breaths, the music. The sweater felt pleasantly itchy on his cheek. It felt a lot better than it looked.

"Night, Cas."

"Good night, Dean."

* * *

It was shortly after ten when bird song gently interrupted Dean's incoherent dreams and lulled his slowly awakening mind.

Dean had always been a troubled sleeper. Ever since he could remember at least. Nightmares invaded his mind like a plague, dragged him downwards and further and deeper into a pitch black hole. He supposed there had to be a reason, maybe several reasons even, for why his sleep was disturbed in such a strong matter. But—unsurprisingly—he'd never felt the urge to explore the subject further. He just went on with it.

This night however had been different, because it'd had Dean sleeping like a _stone._ For the first time in a long-ass time, Dean's body wasn't hurting in all the wrong places, and he felt strangely relaxed, felt like going back to sleep not because he was still exhausted, but because it'd been such _good_ sleep. He didn't want it to _end._

Dean grumbled, cozily, and hid his face from the sunlight shining in. Dosing off again, Dean pressed his face against the chest of his sleeping companion. Overnight, the living room's temperature had dropped from fuggy and hot to freezing cold, the smoke had disappeared through the cracks in the wood and had made room for the chilled September air to come floating in. Still, the entangled sleepers on the narrow bed were comfortably warm.

Dean's breaths were heavy, and he shifted closer to Cas, whose body heat and silent snoring were extremely sleep-inducing.

Part of his awakening mind told him it was _Lisa_ he was snuggling with, that she must have returned to him at some point at night and that they had miraculously made up, but it wasn't like Dean was really buying that. Wasn't like he really _wanted_ to. Dean wasn't awake enough to be fully aware of the situation, or even remember last night's events yet, but enough so to know it was _Cas'_ chest he was nuzzling into. He didn't want it to be anybody else.

Dean felt Cas' breath on his forehead, felt it blow a strand of hair into his eyes, rhythmically. Dean's fingers lay loosely on top of Cas' lower arm, they had lain there all night, but Dean could not know that. Anyhow, it seemed to be time for them to switch their position… explore, maybe. Or hug.

Without thinking at all, Dean clutched Cas' back, tight, very tight, enough so to wake him up. Dean couldn't bring himself to care, though, and fell motionless again, the feel of that ugly sweater under his fingertips. He didn't care, until Cas shifted lazily to hug him back. He found out that he cared a lot about _that._

But Dean was still kind of asleep. He _was_ asleep. This was another reality, had to be, one in which it was okay to cuddle with Cas in the morning, and grin into his wool sweater just because of the fact that Cas was embracing him like a treasure now. Maybe Dean even was still dreaming. And there were no borders in dreams, right?

No dos and don'ts.

The two of them lay like this for a few minutes. Dean was on the verge of falling asleep again. Cas absently moved his thumbs in small, slow circles over Dean's upper arm, caressing the bare skin over and over. Dean let him proceed, complaining the last thing on his mind. Dean sighed in pleasure. Such very nice dreams he was having this morning.

Dean shifted his head a bit then, and it was the scratchy stubble brushing his forehead that burst the bubble eventually.

Real.

This was absolutely _real._

Dean's heart took a leap, and he jumped onto his elbows. The mattress responded with a reproachful creak and a jiggle, joggling the two slightly. Now, as if an inner switch had been flipped, Dean was wide awake. The tight embrace of those strong arms around his waist loosened, and then vanished entirely. Dean blinked into the bright sunlight, blind for a moment, and as his vision became clear he found himself staring into clear blue eyes. Wide awake blue eyes.

Dean winced in surprise and heavily bumped on the floor.

"C— _Cas,_ what the hell! You can't watch me like this, it's creepy as fuck!"

Cas bobbed up, cross-legged. His gaze briefly wandered around the living room, hair sticking out in all four cardinal points, and he mumbled an apology.

"What are you even doing here?" Dean asked. "Why are you—why are _we_ —"

Dean swallowed hard, mouth completely dried-out.

"I was lying next to you in bed", Cas rattled off, visibly flustered. "I—didn't want to disturb your sleep by getting up and going home—or by preparing breakfast for us. I was thinking about which of these two options would have been more appropriate. Perhaps I shouldn't have fondled you while pondering about this. But I'm afraid I was doing that, too. And that would be all I've been doing here until a few seconds ago, I think."

"No, Cas, I mean why are you _still_ here?" Dean said, closing his eyes. Cas had friggin' _fondled_ him. "Didn't you leave yesterday after giving me the exercises or something?"

Behind Dean's eyelids appeared the sudden image of Cas, lying under Dean, saying, _you're hard, too, Dean._

Dean gasped. "Son—of—a—bitch."

Cas smiled, bashful. "Now you remember."

Dean crawled backwards, and eventually landed on his ass. Shocked, he was just staring at Cas, who was looking like some weirdly hot hobo right now.

"I must've had the most vivid dream tonight, Cas. 'Cause there's no way I'm not making these memories up. That didn't really happen. That'd be _crazy."_

"I think it would be rather appropriate to say that we went a little crazy tonight, you and I", Cas said, making an apologetic face at the floor.

Dean froze, heart stopping. "Are you serious? You're serious."

"I wouldn't joke about this, Dean."

Now, Cas returned Dean's shocked stare for a second. And that was all it took to make Dean remember more of tonight's things. Or better yet, all of them. He'd sat on Cas' _dick,_ for Christ's sake _,_ had clearly felt the bulge. Which had given Dean an instant erection—not the first one Cas had involuntarily given him, but still. Fuck. Fuck. _Fuck._ Finally, Dean gasped loudly as the worst thing came back to him, and he blushed, blushed so hard.

He'd _smooched_ Cas.

"Dean. I—m, I'm sorry", Cas muttered, eyes downcast. He was shyly tugging at his own sleeve. "I think I've made my decision now. It would be more appropriate for me to leave, wouldn't it."

Dean hardly heard Cas, blood rushing in his ears. "Yeah. Yeah, that'd be better. I'm not really hungry, anyway. And I mean, this here could easily be taken the wrong way, Cas. You being—uhm. You being still here and all."

Cas frowned. Then he slightly blushed. "Ah. Yes. I understand."

"Just—just leave, before Sam comes, 'kay? Jesus—look at the _time._ It's half past ten already. He could be back any minute."

Panicking even harder, Dean jumped to his feet and headed for the door, waving Cas over. Dean tore the door open and Cas was already halfway out when he stopped and turned around again. He opened his mouth, gaze directed at the floor. Birds were gently singing in the background, just like every day, all the time, as if tonight hadn't friggin' changed everything there was.

"Dean, I. I don't know what to say. There are no words."

"Cas—"

Without another word Cas swirled around, but only after giving Dean the most heart-breaking look he'd ever seen. Standing in the door frame, Dean stared after him, watching him trudge along the sand path down the meadow towards his own house.

Dean heard his own drunk voice echoing in his mind. _When we kiss, really kiss, I want to remember it. All of it._

Fuck. Now Dean couldn't fight the memory of Cas asking him if he would regret all of this in the morning. _Don't think so. I'd only regret kissing you—like, you know, in the movies or whatever—while being as drunk as my Dad on a bad day._

Dean was just standing there, paralyzed, opening and closing his mouth like a stranded fish. Why the fuck had he said all of these things to Cas? Well, he'd been wasted, obviously. But had he really been— _that_ wasted? Because by now, as Dean watched Cas slowly reach his home and dig his pockets for his keys, the memories were clear as daylight. And the knowledge that he'd just hurt Cas with his insensitive reaction was even clearer than that.

"Woah, was that Mr. Novak? I thought I've dreamed that part."

Sam pushed past Dean, throwing his jacket on the couch. Dean blinked, watching Sammy collect some empty beer cans from the couch, before finally sprawling on it.

"Dude, my head is killing me. Sorry, by the way. Spent the night at Gabe's. Forgot to call. You okay?"

Dean gave a small nod.

"Never been better."

Automatically, Dean started walking away from the front door and towards the kitchen, rubbing his chin. Of course, Sam's eyes followed him, attentively.

"But, seriously, Dean. What was Mr. Novak still doing here?"

"Nothing", Dean said, defensively. "He forgot his… his thing."

Sam gave him a look as if he'd lost his mind. "His thing?"

"Yeah, you know, his…" Dean's mind was completely blank. "His tape!" He then shouted, before quickly lowering his voice to a less crazy level. "He forgot his tape, I mean. He—he lost it here. _Beatles._ We've, uh—listened to them yesterday, after you guys have been off to God knows where."

Sam raised his brows, stretching his legs. "Uh, okay. Never considered you the _Beatles_ type, but whatever. I just hope we're not in trouble now. Smoking pot with your teacher isn't exactly written down in the school regulations. Did he seem angry to you?"

"No—uh." Dean swallowed.

"Not exactly."


	6. Popcorn

**Chapter 6**

"You know, Dad's probably gonna call soon, like", Sam changed his voice to a mere growl, _"boys, when the sun rises in the west and sets in the east, when the seas go dry and mountains blow in the wind like leaves, then I will return, and not before"._

Despite his awkward I-cuddled-with-Cas-all-night mood, Dean couldn't help but laugh, and with a big yawn, Sam returned to his current task of sweeping the floor. The brothers spent the next hour or so clearing out the mess they'd made the previous night. Although it was, admittedly, unlikely that Dad would return today, as he'd vaguely said he would, Dean and Sam knew better than to take any risks.

The trash bag with the spilled popcorn in one hand, Dean eventually pulled out his phone, remembering that maybe he should check if Lisa had texted him after last night's—mildly put—unpleasant parting. However, he hadn't received any messages from her, and just when Dean tried to gather some inspiration for one of his phenomenal apology texts, Gabe texted him.

 ** _last night was HILARIOUS! can't believe we got high with our friggin MATH TEACH jfc_**

Dean froze. It only occurred to him now that while yes, theoretically they could be in trouble, Cas could be off much, much worse. In fact, if one of them told anyone about what had happened last night, it could entirely _ruin_ Cas. Hell, how was Cas supposed to know that none of them would go straight to the principal and tell some kind of bullshit story à la "Mr. Novak forced us" or "he made us do stuff for him"?

Breaking into cold sweat, Dean hastily texted Gabe back.

 ** _look man u can't tell anyone about what happened last night. cas could get into serious trouble and so could we btw_**

Gabe replied only seconds later. **_who's cas?_**

Dean felt like slapping himself. **_mr. novak. promise, ok?_**

 ** _what kind of weird ass name is cas? and don't get your panties in a twist, dean-o_**

Without giving himself time to think about what he was doing, Dean threw the trash bag containing the spilt popcorn over his shoulder and slipped into his worn out trainers. Then, with a quick "I'll be right back, Sammy", he rushed out the door. He needed to set things straight, needed Cas to know that he was safe. And—perhaps—apologize for his dick behavior from earlier. Praying for Cas not to be too mad at him, or worse, treating him distantly, he scudded down the hill.

Cas sat on the doorstep.

A pitch-black aura radiated off him, causing Dean to slow his pace. Cas didn't look up as Dean approached his cottage, just continued staring into space, and the sight felt like a knife between Dean's ribs.

With a flat voice, Cas spoke up. "There's a pizza on the White's roof."

"A what?" Dean turned around and saw that, yes indeed, there was a pizza lying on their neighbors' roof. "Yeah, I think they're fighting quite a lot lately, Mr. and Mrs. White. At least that's what their son Flynn told me. Walt Jr., I mean, that's what he's called. Prefers to be called Flynn, though."

Cas didn't respond. Instead, his eyes fell on the bag of popcorn Dean was carrying.

"You saved the popcorn."

"Oh. Oh, well, yes, I figured you might wanna feed it to some squirrels or something."

Cas simply took the bag, hugged it to his chest and fell into silence again. His strange behavior only increased Dean's worries.

Dean took a deep breath. "Anyway, man, I just wanted you to know that neither Sammy and me nor Gabe and Jess, none of us is gonna tell anyone about what happened last night, okay? There's nothing to be concerned about. Seriously, you don't have to worry that one of us runs straight to Crowley and tells him some bullshit story à la—"

Cas' suddenly firm voice interrupted him. "That one of you tells the truth?" He finally looked up and met Dean's gaze. "That I not only supported my students' underage drinking and drug use but also _joined_ them. Me. Your teacher. And not to mention that I made you, Dean, _kiss_ me."

Dean's heart stopped. "You didn't _make_ me—"

Cas looked at Dean as if he'd just tossed in an insult. "I did, Dean. I _should_ have left. I should have left after giving you the exercises for Sam. But instead, I stayed and asked you all of these questions. You're right for regretting this, Dean."

"Cas, listen, I don't—"

"Dean, I was _hard_ for you. It _hurt._ It took me _hours_ to fall asleep next to you, but for all of that I still did not leave. Who does something like that?"

Dean really didn't know what to say to that.

He blushed, violently, rubbing his own arm.

"I'm afraid, highly unprofessional doesn't even cut it, Dean. It was completely irresponsible. All of it."

Cas' voice was dripping with self-disgust. Helplessly, Dean watched Cas put his head in his hands as if it was too heavy for him to carry.

"I also gave your words further thought, Dean, and I see what you meant now. Even when I am feeling differently, I should always treat you like only a friend. And nothing more than that. Even though, technically, I shouldn't even be your friend. And I shouldn't touch you the way I did. Last night, I had no control over my actions, and I hardly drank any alcoholic beverages. So, I cannot blame anyone or anything but myself."

"You could blame _me",_ Dean eventually brought out, quietly.

"What?" Cas squinted at him, confused. "No. You did nothing wrong. And you've been highly intoxicated."

"So what, Cas?" Dean called out, more firmly now, eyes gleaming. "I wasn't fall-down drunk. I'm not a friggin' saint, man. I fuck up, too. It's what I do. It's what everyone does!"

Cas swallowed, looking down at the stony ground. "Dean. You only kissed me like a _friend._ It was _me_ who proposed the movie kiss."

Dean clenched his fists. "Yeah, but I don't exactly remember me running away from that, either. And, well, I sure as hell don't have boners for my _friends_ , Cas!"

Cas hesitated. He blinked. "But you told me we were just—"

"I was talking bull-shit, Cas, okay! I _do_ that."

A frown formed on Cas' face. Then, he nodded. "Ah, yes. Lying. Sometimes you do it sarcastically. Last night you've been lying on purpose, I guess, to avoid hurting my feelings, because you surely don't feel the same way that I do. I should have noticed. My apologies."

 _"Cas."_ Dean was beside himself, hands shaking. "What are you—what are you apologizing for now?"

Cas smiled, sadly. "For my stupidity."

"You're not—forget it." Dean forced himself to calm down. "Just don't ever say that you shouldn't be my friend."

"But I shouldn't, Dean. Not when I… feel these _emotions_ when I'm with you."

"Well, damn, Cas, have you ever stopped to wonder if maybe I feel them, too? Have you ever really thought that through before just deciding that I don't?"

Cas tensed. Dean's angry exclamations were echoing in his own head. Part of him cringed, because _feelings_ , and what was he even _doing_ , but fear prevailed over it. Dean stared at Cas, desperately awaiting his reaction.

Then, after a few seconds of consideration, Cas just broke out in giggles, shaking his head. "Good one, Dean. You really had me there for a second."

 _"Cas—"_

"Maybe we should stop seeing each other."

Within a split second, Cas' face was all blank again.

 _"What?"_ Dean repeated, eyes going wide. His bottom lip was trembling. _He's breaking up with me_ , Dean couldn't help thinking. "No, no— _no_ , Cas. That's not—that's not even up for debate. Never say that again. Don't you dare ever say that again, d'you hear me?"

Cas made big eyes at him, blinking. "Dean, I don't know what else to do."

"Well!" Dean wildly gesticulated with his hands. "We'll just get on with it! It's not the friggin' biblical apocalypse, right? A few days from now we'll laugh about all of this."

Cas gave a weak smile. "I doubt that. But all right, Dean. I suppose we can try 'getting it on'."

For a second, Dean just stared at Cas, baffled, until even though his eyes were filled with tears, he couldn't stifle a choked laugh at that.

" _Get on with it_ , Cas. It's 'get on with it'."

"Oh. Well, that, then."

Apparently everything being said, Cas went silent once again, mind disappearing to some, no doubt, rather ugly place.

While Dean thought—hoped—he'd managed to prevent the worst, seeing Cas like this, shattered, with these glassy eyes, intensified the hollow feeling in his stomach. Dean should comfort him, or something, be there for him, but it just didn't feel right in this moment.

"Just don't tell anyone", Cas then whispered, wearily.

"I won't", Dean croaked, a lump in his throat. "None of us will. Scout's honor."

Cas just nodded. "Goodbye, Dean. I'll see you in class on Monday."

"Yeah. Yeah, okay. See you, Cas."

* * *

The rest of the weekend passed rather unspectacularly.

All Sunday, the rain came down in sheets, annulling Dean's half-assed idea of breaking the silence between him and Lisa by showing up at her house unannounced. Although such an action would've calmed the waves easily between them, Dean took the weather as a bad sign.

All right—truth be told—he just needed a break from her.

Didn't even know what to tell her.

Every once in a while, Dean caught himself staring out the window, trying really hard to think about anything else but Friday night, but the images of the night with Cas just kept coming back like they were the most important thing in the world. They weren't, though. Staring down rain-swept Fleeing Deer Street, the brown Chevy marking the same spot all weekend, making Dean wonder what Cas was up to all by himself—but no, they _weren't._

There was still some other stuff, like—

 _—Sam._

It was Sunday evening, Sam was serving some healthy-ass dinner he'd cooked, and an unspoken question was hanging in the living-room's air.

 _Where the hell's Dad?_

Dean was already pissed-off, and the food on their small, shaky dining table in front of him didn't exactly brighten his mood.

"What kind of sick meat is this?" Dean picked at the vegetables. "And what makes you think I wanna eat broccoli?"

"It's not meat, it's tofu", Sam stated defensively, as if that was an excuse. "And I think you could use some real food for once. You know, there's more to life than stuffing yourself with pie and fries every single day. It's called taking responsibility, Dean. You've probably never heard of it."

Dean pulled a disgusted face. "The fuck, Sammy? Did Jess ram that hippie bullshit down your throat?"

Sam laughed out a little too loud to be convincing. "Uh, no? I've always hated eating meat, Dean. I'm done with it. And by the way", Sam paused, avoiding Dean's doubtful stare. "I'm vegan now."

Dean snorted, receiving a glare from Sam. "The hell does that even mean? Is this some kind of rebellion against Dad?"

"No, Dean. I just happen to have a heart for animals."

"Says the one who's once shot two deer in one day and rejoiced over it."

"Shut up, jerk." Sam crossed his arms. "I was nine."

"Whatever, man. Just leave me out of your girly stuff. Thanks to you I'll starve to death tonight, bitch", Dean hissed while getting up from the table.

Sam was flabbergasted. "What, you're shooting your dinner now?"

Dean stopped to sneer at his brother. "Don't cry, Sammy. I'm getting the mail."

When he unlocked the mail box, a post card fell in his hand. Dean frowned and had a close look at the strange imprinted illustration. There was a drawing of a moose, its eyes drawn as black crosses. Below it, Dean read: _Greetings from Great Sandstone "Bloodbath" Forest!_

"What the…"

He turned the post card around, perplexed, and skimmed the flipside. He knew the scratchy handwriting too well.

 _Hello boys,_

 _I won't be back soon, I'm sorry. Seems like I'll have to figure out some things about myself first. So far, it's been a successful hunt (see picture on front). There's a poor signal up here, so I can't call you, but I'm sure you'll manage all right. Don't spend all my money while I'm gone, boys! Always remember: Saving money, hunting deer, the family business._

 _See you around, Dad_

There were grease spots all over the ridiculous message, and Dean shuddered in disgust. _See you around my ass,_ he thought, before throwing it straight into the trash can.

* * *

Monday morning, the whole world looked like one giant trash can through Dean's eyes.

Ten long minutes he had waited for Lisa at their usual venue—the bus stop in the middle of St. Tipper main road—but she hadn't shown up. Not even after the third or fourth cigarette. What pissed him off the most about it was his lack of surprise. And—of course—the fact that he knew he deserved all of this.

He had tried to call her, but only pro forma. 'Cause when she was bitchy, she was _seriously_ bitchy. Needless to say she hadn't answered the phone, either. What a great start of the day. It was just the best feeling ever when everyone plotted against you. _Cas_ wasn't part of the conspiracy, however, and Dean would really love to hang out with Cas after school today to start with that. But—

—okay, laying it on the line.

He couldn't look Cas in the eyes anymore. Now less than ever.

Because Dean had spent almost the entire past night sleepless, thinking about Cas' fingers on his naked upper arm, purposely fondling him, Cas' lips on Dean's, even though it'd been only about one second, and, of course, Cas' dick. Cas being hard for him.

In the morning, Dean had taken about two hours in the bathroom, showering way too long.

The remaining way to school he spent breaking his head about what to say to Lisa in class, how to apologize, how to explain his rudeness from Friday night, how to explain the whole _Cas_ thing—minus the smooch and boner parts, of course. He got a headache just picturing her touchy face.

There was only one conclusion that even stood a chance of calming her down. And that was no more lies. He needed to tell her the truth about exactly whom he'd spent most of his time during summer holidays with. That it was gorgeous, hot _Mr. Novak_ they'd had their fight about. That _he_ had been math guy. And that Dean hadn't told her all about him the very first time she'd asked, because—

Well. Dean could hardly tell her that he'd wanted Cas all to himself, could he. He couldn't tell her about his laughter lines, or that little snort he sometimes did while giggling about one of Dean's—admittedly—pretty awesome jokes. Dean could also hardly cite Cas' blue eyes as his reason.

Dean was afraid of her female intuition. That she would easily figure _things_ out.

And big surprise, all those things scrambled up to one huge, insuperable pile of issues in his head, and—just entering the school yard—Dean decided to skip math class once again.

The heating room seemed like a better place, a problem-free zone.

"Mornin', son."

Bobby was currently busy stockpiling some wires. The room was pleasantly warm, a stench of sweat and pot and whiskey hanging in the air, and Dean quickly identified the tune playing in the background as _Guantanamera._

Grumpily, Bobby dropped the wires and turned to Dean, wiping his forehead with an old cloth. "Look, _mi hijo,_ I know I'm one _fantástico_ old man, but you really need to focus on school more. _Muy importante,_ Dean. What do you expect to happen down here, anyway? That I'll suddenly open my toolbox and disappear to _Narnia_?"

Dean shrugged. "Hey, buddy, I just wanna check on you, s'all. Heard you're kinda in trouble 'cause of your—your deliveries. Like, in _real_ trouble."

Bobby grunted. "Well, I'm always in trouble, my friend. No reason to check on my ass every single day."

"Yeah, but", Dean replied, cautious not to make Bobby even grumpier. "But I was wondering if, you know, I have something to do with your newest trouble? 'Cause I'm always hanging out here and it's actually forbidden and stuff."

Bobby narrowed his eyes to slits. "Someone's developing a guilty conscience here, huh?"

Before Dean had a chance to reply, the two heard footsteps approaching.

Rash and determined.

"I bet that's Crowley", Dean breathed. "Bobby, I'm skipping math class right now. Have been for over a week. I'm kinda in a jam, and I don't think Crowley loves me being down here—"

"Balls", Bobby cursed while rolling up his sleeves. "Well, why don't you hide under my workbench for a minute then, son, 'cause I'm afraid shit's about to get ugly."

Mouthing 'Thank you' to Bobby, Dean quickly crawled under the workbench, almost squishing a fat black spider. He pulled his legs behind the second Crowley rushed in. Dean recognized his jet-black tax consultant get-up immediately. There was a moment of tense silence, and Dean pressed his eyes shut.

"Where is he? Where's the boy? Don't lie to me, El Cantante, this is _serious_ ", Crowley hissed, and started whirring all across the room.

"You blind, Crowley? He's not here. And as far as I remember, we came to an agreement about that last week. So, get outta my heatin' room, stalker. This ain't your territory."

"Excuse me?" Crowley swirled around, stepping closer to Bobby with his eyes screwed up. He poked Bobby's chest with one finger. "Everything you see, everywhere you go, the bloody air you're breathing, is _my_ territory. _You_ are my territory."

Bobby scoffed. "Yeah. Quit dreaming."

Crowley smiled, smugly. "That's quite funny, coming from you. El Cantante. The successful, _exemplary_ janitor of the one school with the worst reputation within miles and miles of boring, gaping nothingness. The janitor who is going to _lose his job whether he likes it or not!"_

Dean saw Crowley stepping even closer to Bobby, intimidating him, his yell loudly echoing in the room.

"So, why don't you put that in your pipe", Crowley hissed, "and bloody _smoke_ it."

Next thing Dean knew, Crowley breathed in sharply, and Dean felt the air going from tense to downright thick. In the background, the Spanish music doodled on and on. Dean winced at the sound of a nasty bang, almost knocked his head on the table surface above him, and was horrified at the sight of Bobby slamming Crowley against the wall.

"Thanks, _camarada,_ but I like to choose myself exactly what I put in my pipes, and it sure as hell ain't none your steaming bull-shit. _"_

Bobby had his arm pressed against Crowley's neck. Then, Bobby grabbed the collar of Crowley's black coat, and threw him hard against the opposite wall. It looked almost too easy, as if the man was a light weight. Or simply not fighting it at all.

Crowley cried out at the nasty collision, convulsing in pain, before Bobby made him shut up very effectively by smacking his face. Blood shot out of Crowley's nose, and he thumped down, landing on all forth. Bobby's sombrero flew towards the ground and awkwardly landed on top of Crowley's head.

For a moment, all Dean heard were his own heartbeat, Bobby's heavy breathing and Crowley's furious gasping.

"I don't think anybody's gettin' fired soon", Bobby concluded, tipping the sombrero from above. "What do you think?"

"No", Crowley growled. "Not fired. _Murdered._ "

All of a sudden, the cellar door swung open. Dean hadn't heard anyone approaching. But then again, he'd been totally captured. Now, Dean's racing heart quite literally skipped a beat, because he saw brown leather shoes, black pants, and a tight white shirt, probably three or more buttons opened at the top—

"Hello, you must be the janitor."

Bobby took a quick step back, and Crowley stumbled back on his feet, straightening his coat.

Bobby coughed slightly. "Janitor, hopeless alcoholic, lazy bugger, I've been called worse."

"I—I hate to interrupt. I am Mr. Novak. Pleasure to meet you", Cas said, hesitating. "I've heard a lot about you from Dean."

"Dean", Crowley commented, biting voice. "What's it with this boy and older men? Looks like he's having an extramarital affair, El Cantante. Tragic. My sincerest condolences."

"Shut up, Crowley, will ya." Bobby turned to Cas. "What's the problem, friend?"

"It, uhm, it appears that we have a small problem with our classroom's TV cable. It may sound funny—and it truly is a strange given—but none of us seems to be able to properly plug it in. I was about to show my students a quite exciting animated movie. _The Unlikely Adventures Of X And Z in Polynomia._ It's a new release, and rather unknown. So, to change that, I'm afraid we'll need some assistance upstairs."

Bobby cleared his throat, and slowly followed Cas to the door. "Sure, _claro,_ I'll take care of that."

"Mr. Novak, not so fast, my dear", Crowley spoke up, charmingly, all pulled together again. Except that his face was smeared in blood. "I have intended to talk to you tomorrow morning, but let's just bring this forward, shall we. It's about one of your students. Drum roll. Who could it be? The infamous Dean Winchester."

Under the workbench, Dean flinched.

Sonofa _bitch._

"It has come to my attention that his name hasn't been checked on your attendance list at all during the last week. Well, except for Monday. So, I wondered, what could possibly be up with that? Any secret information you're hiding from us, sweetheart?"

"There is no us", Bobby grumbled in his beard.

Cas didn't reply straight away.

"Yes, I", Cas stuttered, and Dean could _hear_ his frown. "I've noticed that, too. I will personally resolve this problem as soon as I can."

Dean stiffened at that.

Cas chuckled, awkwardly. "Don't worry, sir, Dean is very good at math. He can be quite wayward sometimes, though, my Dean. I—I mean. _Dean_. Just Dean. But there truly is no reason to worry, Mr. Crowley, I do have control over the situation. There, uh, there have been some problems, admittedly, but now we've decided to 'get on with it', Dean and I."

Dean hit his head against the ground, rhythmically. Why—why—why.

"How very fascinating", Crowley said. "You're astonishingly quick at judging your students, sweetheart. I'm sure it takes more than one day of observing to see if a student is 'good at math' or not. But, now, unfortunately", Crowley added, ruffling his coat, "duty is calling. Nice chat, Mr. Novak. And please, do keep it up with those flatteringly tight pants. It's not often that we see such lovely back parts like yours around here."

"Thank you", Cas awkwardly said.

Dean stopped his head banging under the bench to dramatically roll his eyes.

God, how much he hated friggin' Fergus Crowley.

* * *

About five hours later Dean was back on his feet. He stood on St. Tipper Fishing Lake's waterfront, all alone, the chill breeze rushing loudly through the tree tops surrounding the wide waters. With every cold gust blowing through his hair, he shuddered. Fall was approaching. Hands dug into his worn-out jean's pockets, Dean bent down to take a look at his swirling reflection—and flinched at the sight of his own face.

Bird-nest like hair, dark under-eye circles, childish freckles spread all over his nose. Disgusted, Dean slowly backed off in the reverse direction to sit down on his good old favorite bench. Skillfully, he shook a cigarette out of his pack of smokes and struggled to block the wind off the flame. Eventually, he took a deep drag, leaned back, breathed out and immediately felt the nicotine calming him down.

In consideration of the circumstances, it wasn't a miracle that Dean had skipped not only math but all of his classes. After witnessing Bobby beating down Crowley, it was only justified that Dean needed some time out. It was sort of disturbing, knowing that their fight had been partly his fault.

And oh, there were of course some more good reasons, like Cas announcing his intention to finally put an end to Dean's math class phobia. Dean really hadn't felt like bumping into Cas in the hallway, not today, at least. And he hadn't been too eager on seeing Lisa, either.

So, Dean figured with dry humor, one last time for old time's sake.

Blowing smoke into the September air, Dean was busy making plans on how to get his shit together, until suddenly his vibrating cell phone broke through his train of thoughts. It was a message from Lisa, and he cautiously opened it with one eye screwed up.

 ** _hey. where r u dean? u ditched school again. let's talk, k?_**

With a strange mixture of fear and relieve, Dean typed.  
 ** _sorry. i'm at the lake. come here?_**

A second later, Lisa replied shortly. **_i'll be there in 5._**

One cigarette later, Lisa came towards the bench at a good pace. Her overconfident walk made Dean brace himself for a painful conversation and lots of accusations from her side, if she still had some new ones left after Friday evening, that was. _Are you so sick of me?_ She would yell. _Are you still hung up on your mysterious summer affair?_

Wearing high black boots, a short jeans skirt, a close-fitting white jacket and a furious facial expression, Lisa admittedly looked intimidating to him. But he wasn't scared of _Lisa,_ was he? No, at least not scared enough to freeze. Dean swallowed hard, screwed up his courage and decided to take the wind out of her sails before she had a chance to make it worse.

"Listen." Dean held up his hands. "I'm sorry, babe. I mean it. I'll explain."

Lisa stopped, eyeing him suspiciously. "Well, I'm curious", she stated, frigid.

"I don't want another fight, I really don't. Sorry 'bout the weed. If it upsets you that much, I swear, I'll never touch it again", Dean announced in a soothing tone, thinking: _when you're around._ He sure knew the right words, but that didn't mean he'd give away his freedom, all magic aside. At that, she first seemed to relax a bit, but then she furrowed her brows.

"You also promised to stop skipping classes. How can I believe you, Dean? You never visit math, God knows why. How can I trust you with this?" Her voice trembled and she cleared her throat, folding her arms. "Dean, I know that you're a smart guy, but one summer of private tutoring doesn't replace anything. You need to prove what you've learned, you know."

She sighed and stared at him, musing. Dean shrugged and turned away.

"Yeah, I know", he said, lamely.

Now they were back at the topic. Of _course_ they were, as if it was poison that had contaminated their relationship forever. They fell into silence when he left it at that. He could practically _feel_ the pressure strangle him, along with her stare poking his face, and as much as it scared him, he knew what he had to do.

Finally, Dean met her expectant eyes, groaning. "Look, let's not fight about the same thing again and again, 'kay? Here's the thing. Math guy has been no one but my neighbor— _Cas._ We're kind of… getting along."

He paused to check her reaction. Part of him expected her to grow stiff, and then shout: _You're not fooling anyone, Dean, because the fact that it was him all along doesn't make it any better! You only visited him to fantasize about his sensual lips, didn't you?_

But in reality… her reaction was nothing to make a song about.

"Oh, so it was him", Lisa muttered, surely surprised, but without the slightest sign of anger in her voice. "So…"

"So", Dean went on, quickly. "That was why I acted like a dick on Friday. When you said the thing about Cassie Robinson I laughed, because, well, for one thing I was wasted, and c'mon—that'd be just absurd, me and Cassie."

"Well", Lisa said. "She _is_ pretty."

"Yeah, and so is Cas, but that doesn't mean I'm screwing him!"

At Dean's sudden outcry, Lisa winced. What the hell. Had Dean just said. He hadn't meant to say that. At all. It'd just sort of happened. He colored up to his ears, and there was nothing he could do about it, facing the ground. He felt Lisa's look boring through him.

"No", Lisa said, and Dean almost had a heart attack because at first she sounded so _serious._ But then, thank fuck, she giggled. "No, of course not, Dean. You're right. I guess I really was overreacting, and I'm sorry."

Dean awkwardly scratched his cheek. "Yeah. Yeah, no problem. Me too. It's been a strange week, 'kay, so just—don't be so hard on me, okay?"

"Okay, Dean." Touched by his honesty, Lisa stepped a little closer, and gently squeezed his arm, making Dean lightly flinch. She laughed, sounding relieved.

"'Summer affair', I said, remember? Silly me. So, you spent all that time with _him?_ Gosh, why didn't you just _tell_ me?"

"'Cause", Dean swallowed, face burning. For how long he'd been dreading this friggin' moment. "I dunno. You—you just made me feel weird about it. With what you said. 'Summer affair' and all. But no big deal."

Dean looked away. His heart was hammering in his chest, palms sweaty, and he inwardly cursed himself, because Lisa now stopped laughing. At first she didn't say anything in return. She just studied him—he felt it—and it felt as if she could see right through him. If she really could, then hell, it'd be over before he could count to three. He wanted to crawl into a hole and die.

Lastly, she exhaled.

"Oh, Dean. You're such a baby sometimes", she said, affectionate. "It's not _gay_ to meet a private tutor, you know. Not even when he is as attractive as Mr. Novak."

With all force, Dean struggled to keep his face under control. He thought of 'You're hard, too, Dean', and 'I want to feel it. All of it'. Don't let her know. Don't let her know. He forced himself to return her gaze, embarrassed.

"So… we're okay?"

In response, Lisa wrapped her arms around his neck, sat down on his lap, and smothered his face with wet kisses, which was nice, but he really needed to _know,_ he needed an _answer._ She backed off, smilingly, just far enough to look him in the eyes, and shook her head.

"Of course we're okay, you idiot."

She smiled and pulled him in for a passionate kiss, as if to stress her words. Pretty convincing, he thought, but he still didn't feel very relieved. _It's not gay to_ meet _him, sure… but cuddling with him all night? And sleeping better than ever before? Jacking off to the thought of him? Smooching him? How 'bout that?_ He pushed the thoughts away with all that he could, and tried concentrating on making out with Lisa instead.

Then, her lips made their way to his ear.

"Later…" She whispered. "We're going to do something absolutely _not_ gay together. How does that sound?"

Dean wasn't sure if he had ever been so turned-off by a sentence in his life.


	7. Vodka

**Chapter 7**

"So, take for example (x-3)². It is essential to remember that (x-3)² is _not_ equal to x²-9. Uhm. Dean? I'd suggest you write that down."

"What? _Oh._ Right. Sorry. I didn't mean to stare at you. Drifted off there for a moment. I'm totally writing it down now. There, got it."

"Good. Then let us continue with how to divide expressions in Algebra. The first examples I'll show you involve simplifying and canceling. Uhm. _Simplifying_ and _canceling,_ Dean. Remember to take notes."

"Yes, sorry, _simplifying_ and… _channeling,_ was it? Er…"

"Do I—do I have something in my face? Maybe some paint, I've fixed the cottage's fence earlier. I've been planning to do that ever since I moved here. Actually—oh, that's the phone. I'll be right back. Meanwhile, uhm, try and solve the problems 1-3 on page 6. Should I get you any kind of beverage from the kitchen, Dean?"

"Vodka martini. Shaken, not stirred."

Cas laughed.

 _Nailed it._

Dean watched Cas hurry off towards the kitchen to take the phone call. Simultaneously, Dean watched Cas' spotty grey shirt creep up a few inches, revealing some pale, smooth skin underneath. What a random observation that was. Because Dean hadn't been staring at Cas' backside or anything. Just as he had most definitely not _eyeballed_ Castiel during whatever Algebra thing he had just explained before the phone had—mercifully—interrupted them. He had _not_ been staring at Cas' lips or anything.

Desperately trying to scramble up some motivation, Dean moved his gaze back on the exercise book lying in front of him. He was sitting at Castiel's big oak table, a half-emptied bag of chips lying to his right. To his left was a pile of notes. The rest of the table was covered with hundreds of worksheets. Well, maybe not _hundreds_ but a very intimidating amount of math anyhow.

Three days had passed since Dean had skipped school on Monday—but on the bright side had managed to smooth things over with Lisa. He then had actually gone to school on the following two days and even today, Thursday, he had in fact attended all of his classes. He was rather proud of himself. Until he remembered that, oh, he had still continued to ditch math. Which was surely _not_ something he was proud of.

The test Cas had told him about last Friday—when he'd invited Dean over for studying—was finally due tomorrow. Dean knew that there was no way he could afford flunking any tests. Just as he knew that he couldn't afford skipping math forever. _I'll resolve the problem as soon as I can,_ Cas had said. Thanks to Dean's more and more perfected Cas avoidance skills, however, he'd made it difficult for him to resolve anything. Because until Dean finally managed to lay off his newest late night jacking off habit, he had planned to delay the 'getting on with it' part to a later point in time.

Unfortunately, on Wednesday afternoon, Cas had finally more or less caught Dean leaving the house to go grocery shopping. He had asked Dean if he'd thought about his offer from Friday and if he'd like to learn about some math shit. Of course those hadn't been his exact words _._

And now here they were.

Studying.

Except that—even after a good two hours—Dean still had no idea what the test was even going to be about. Not when Cas was—well, being _Cas._

Dean looked around the living room. Cas' cottage was a little smaller than the Winchester's, but the lack of clutter, useless decoration and unneeded furniture made it seem pretty spacious nonetheless. There was a crammed bookshelf, a small, red couch, an ancient, tiny TV, a large bed and, of course, the big oak table. And that was basically it, overlooking a few piles of books and sheets, some scattered clothes and a reasonable amount of trash lying around.

When Dean had first been here, he'd thought the place lacked personality… and warmth, generally. Actually, it just lacked _Cas._ But he had only lived here since the end of June, after all, so that wasn't too unusual. Possibly, he'd simply chosen to leave his old life and old stuff behind when he'd come to St. Tipper. Or something. It wasn't like Dean was _that_ interested in Cas' former life and wondered about what he'd done before the _entire_ time.

Dean heard Cas' voice rambling in the kitchen, but couldn't make out any of his words. Only the slight distress in his voice. Dean couldn't help eavesdropping. He wasn't that interested in him, really wasn't, but… he didn't know _anything_ about Cas' social environment, if such existed that was ("I learned to live with solitude", Cas had said last Friday, Dean suddenly remembered), and he was beyond curious.

"Like I just said, no", Cas said. "I highly doubt that there are any dance clubs in… what?"

Cas stepped out of the kitchen, and Dean automatically switched to pseudo-reading the papers in front of him. Shooting a quick glance at Cas over his shoulder, Dean didn't think he even cared. He was whirring around the room, a glass of water in one hand, and with the other one he was pressing the receiver to his ears. His face the epitome of stress and confusion.

"I don't understand. I am not familiar with any kind of poultry dance, and I certainly don't—what's so funny?" Cas furrowed his brows and gave Dean, who was now observing the scene unashamedly, an exasperated look, as if to say: _Kill me now._ "Listen, I am very busy at present, so I'd like to continue now if you don't mind", Cas harshly cut off the laughter on the other end.

The other person replied something, and Cas tilted his head. Then, he rolled his eyes to the ceiling.

"Yes, that's what I just said: I'm busy. It's not a misleading term, I believe. What? Yes, in fact I do have a visitor, therefore I suggest we'd leave it at that."

He paused next to Dean, putting his hand on the back of his chair. "Here you go", Cas whispered to Dean, putting the glass of water down on the table. Dean was distracted by Cas' sudden closeness—his friggin' neck, man—and automatically, he reached for the glass and took a sip. And then spit it all over the exercises. It was _vodka._ Vodka martini, probably. _Dammit_ , Cas.

"Thanks", Cas spoke into the receiver, not really taking notice of Dean's choking noises. "You—you too. Goodb— _what?"_

The voice on the other end spoke again. Now, Dean was stunned by the sight of Cas going redder than red.

"N—no", Cas stuttered. "I mean, _yes,_ I do remember it, don't repeat it, please. This is—something else. No advice required. Good-bye, Balthazar."

Abruptly, Cas hung up and placed the phone on the table—more like _threw_ it—and then paused for a moment, collecting himself.

Dean smirked. "What's the problem, _James Bond_ newbie?"

Cas shifted, avoiding any eye-contact.

"My brother, ' _Balthazar'._ He wanted to inquire about my health. Hear how I am doing at this place. He also wanted to give me advice on—never mind. He was mistaken. Excuse my turbulence, Dean, my brother always has this strange impact on me." He ran his fingers through his hair, and stopped with a wave of his hand. "Anyway. Let's proceed with our mathematical journey through the secrets of unknowns and odds, shall we?"

"Hold on", Dean chuckled. "Easy, Cas. You can't mention your brother for the first time and then expect me to just leave it at that. Who _is_ he?"

Cas sighed and rolled his eyes. "He's an entertainer. That is his job, but I like to say he hardly casts off his work gear. He's ostentatious, quick-tempered", Cas listed stoically, "and has no boundaries, really. Hammingham is his residence. He is celebrating his birthday in a few days and I urgently need a present. And he decided to 'visit' me tomorrow evening. And that would be who he is. Now…"

Cas averted his gaze at the exercises again. Determined to go on with simplifying and challenging or whatever. That crap was the last thing on Dean's mind right now.

"Let's go buy one", Dean said, eyes glowing with excitement. "Now. I know _exactly_ what a guy like him would need. He sounds like the grown up version of my best friend. Trust me with this, it's gonna be perfect."

For a moment, Cas just looked him over, reluctance and regret written all over his face. Something about Dean's expression seemed to be convincing, to some descent at least.

A minute later, Dean strolled up to the cottage's door and Cas threw on his beige trench coat.

* * *

Dean slammed the passenger door shut, fastened his seat belt and ran his fingers through his hair, pushing his goddamn fringe out of his eyes. Today had been a pretty hot day and his hair strands were kind of shaggy and oily—really, he normally wasn't the self-regarded kind of guy, but the way his crazy fringe frustrated him to no end. Especially while Cas was around. Cas shouldn't have to see that.

On the driver seat, Cas dug the car key out of his stained jeans' pocket and started the engine.

Or rather tried to. The motor stuttered for what felt like hours, before Cas, with an annoyed "not again", turned it down.

"That happens sometimes. It usually starts at the second try", Cas explained, distracted.

Being interested in cars—especially classic cars like this one—Dean thought of dropping an expert-ish comment, to maybe impress Cas a little bit. He couldn't come up with anything that wasn't totally obvious, though. The brown Chevy was a battered old car, all dusty and ill-kept. Its last inspection had probably been ages ago. So, Dean simply watched Cas, feeling useless.

Cas was just leaning forward, all concentrated, and swiveled the key again.

The way he bit his bottom lip while doing it was pretty nice, Dean thought.

And how he now ran his tongue across it... even better—

Sonofa _bitch._

Dean jerked forward. This time Cas had managed to cause a heavy backfire.

Dean was held in place by the seat belt, and Cas' nose brutally dashed against the steering wheel.

"Dammit", Dean groaned, struggling to break free. "You alright, Cas?"

"My nose is bleeding."

Cas was frowning at the sight of his bloody fingers, not making any move to do something about it, though. Quickly, Dean pulled a wadded tissue out of his leather jacket's pocket and handed it over to him.

"Used it once to get rid of a chewing gum."

Without hesitation, Cas pressed it against his nose. Soon enough, the bleeding stopped. He then made a clumsy attempt at cleaning his own face, and Dean watched him. The look on Cas' face was priceless—it was the same one he always pulled while considering one of Dean's exceptionally stupid mathematical questions that no one else would take seriously.

"Wait a sec", Dean said, eventually.

Without thinking twice about it, he snatched the tissue out of his hand. Well, he had to help him do the job. Otherwise they'd probably still sit here by closing-time.

He guided the tissue to another spot, one just under Cas' lips. Not because he wanted to touch them, or stare at them, but to _help_ him, remember?

"Jeez, your chin looks like some battleground during World War II", Dean blurted out.

Cas flashed him a doubtful glance.

Dean continued wiping his face, and in case it looked like he took some extra time with his lips, then it wasn't true. When it looked like the tissue was senselessly lingering there, because he considered _feeling_ them, then that was just… bull-shit. He wanted to make sure that his _friend_ wouldn't walk around with blood stains on his mouth. That was all. Still, Dean's middle finger twitched awkwardly when Cas suddenly started frisking his own lips, concerned, and their hands briefly collided.

"Is it… _so_ dirty?" Cas asked. "It must be really severe. Is there a cut?"

"N—no", Dean stuttered, and quickly pretended to clean Cas' face here and there, even though it was already clean, looked just as perfect as any other day. "No, it ain't that bad. Y'know, without your teacher power you're basically just", he blabbed to fill the strangely intimate moment, "a baby in a trench coat."

Dean dropped back into his seat, blushing.

Cas, luckily, didn't get what had just happened. Well, at least he didn't comment on it. Dean peered hard at him, and all he did was frowning, and frowning some more, before eventually giving up on whatever he was thinking about and fiddling with the key again.

This time, the engine started perfectly, as if it was making fun of Dean.

Soon, the duo rolled down Fleeing Deer Street.

"So, where are we going?" Cas asked while changing into second gear.

Staring out of the front window— _a baby in a trench coat,_ God, he was so embarrassing—Dean thought about how to explain the route.

"Do you know that little shop at the cross-roads Riff-Raff-Road and Hunted-Hedgehog-Avenue? The one that sells writing materials?"

Cas hesitated. "I believe, yes."

"Good. We're visiting the shop next door to it."

* * *

By the time the two of them made it back to their street the sun was already setting, painting the wide sky above St. Tipper in an apocalyptic color combination of red, black and orange. Cas unlocked the door of his cottage, and Dean carried in the bag with Balthazar's gift and a large pizza box, bought on the way back at the only Italian place in town. Among the people it was generally agreed that the existence of a pizzeria in St. Tipper was kind of a miracle in itself—the flawless quality of the dishes only put the cherry on the cake.

"I don't rightly know, Dean", Cas said while taking off his trench coat and shoes. "Usually, I would send my brother a plain postcard or a commendable book I've read. This present you chose is going to surprise him."

"Congrats, Cas, you've just learned the idea behind birthday presents."

With a chuckle, Dean served the cheesy tomato pizza on Cas' dining table, only slightly weirded out by the domestic feeling blooming in his chest. Because all of this felt like coming home together with him. Dean ignored the thought with all that he had. The mouth-watering pizza smell had driven him crazy the whole car ride.

"Cas, now stop giving yourself a headache and grab a slice, 'kay?"

Cas obeyed, and sat down next to him. While they were eating, Dean listened to Cas' vague and reluctant description of Balthazar. His brother lived about four hours from St. Tipper and was visiting for the first time since Cas had moved here, he told Dean, and sadly Cas hadn't been fast enough earlier to come up with an excuse. The more Dean heard, the more he felt like Cas' dubious brother was the complete opposite of Cas. But it was hard to fully focus on their conversation when every slice tasted like _heaven._

Ever since Monday, Sam had stuck to his nutty hippie idea, and had developed the habit of buying loads and loads of vegetables on his way home from school every friggin' day. By now, their small kitchen was overstuffed with absurd amounts of undefinable green stuff, and Sam was always running around with gross looking things that he called _vegetable sticks_ or _almond milk._

Maybe it was because he'd been starving all week, but Dean was pretty sure that on this Thursday evening in Cas' cottage, he was having the best pizza of his life.

"God", Dean moaned with a mouthful of cheesy goodness. "This feels so _good."_ He closed his eyes and sent silent prayers skywards, enjoying every fatty, unhealthy bit. He had to control himself not to stuff the whole slice down his throat all at once.

"Well, it certainly has a delicate flavor. It's my favorite", Cas commented, a smile in his voice. "You should try putting two slices on top of each other, it's twice the pleasure. See, like this."

Dean watched Cas squishing the toppings together, and the grease seductively ran down his fingers as he handed the last two slices over to Dean, who greedily grabbed them and had a taste of the dripping sandwich.

 _"Jesus Christ",_ Dean chewed. "I think I'm gonna pass out."

Cas grinned at him with satisfaction. "Yes, I like it, too. I learned that from the pizza man."

"Bless him", Dean moaned, luckily not noticing that adorable grin—he would've choked—and downed the pizza sandwich in what felt like under ten seconds. "If Sam knew 'bout this, he'd definitely kill me. He's kind of going through a weird spiritual phase right now. Seems to think he's a saint or something. Live and let live, or whatever, he's totally nuts."

Cas thoughtfully cocked his head. "I think your brother is perfectly sane, Dean. He's a clever kid. I'm sure he wouldn't act without due consideration."

Dean snorted. "Yeah, sure. He's desperately tryin' to go along with his girlfriend's girly ideas, that's what he's doing." Dean crossed his arms, grumbling. "Tryin' to keep her. Doesn't have his own mind or something. He's probably just with her 'cause he's scared of being alone, anyway."

Cas furrowed his brows, staring at the table surface. "You're not alone, Dean. You have me."

Surprised, Dean looked at Cas. "I—I know, Cas. I was talking about Sammy."

Cas just nodded, resigned. "Sure you were."

Dean's mouth fell open.

Hesitantly, Cas looked up.

Dean swallowed, suddenly nervous, and grabbed for the glass of vodka that was still standing on the table, abandoned. Without hesitation, Dean downed the clear liquid, Cas silently watching him. Crap, shit was _strong._ It brought tears to Dean's eyes, but for some reason, he didn't want to let it show.

"Did you like it?" Cas asked.

"Yeah", Dean croaked, pressing his eyes shut. "Yum. Just gotta love straight vodka."

Cas smiled, looking down. "I've found a liquor store downtown a few days ago. Do you know which one, Dean? It looked abandoned, and to be honest, quite sad. I would have felt bad if I hadn't bought something, that one time I've walked past it. So, I just went inside and bought this one bottle. The owner looked quite surprised, I recall. It felt nice to do that, Dean. It was a strange experience, really."

"You're too good for this world", Dean said, half-jokingly.

Cas glanced at Dean, shyly, and his smile became even cuter.

Dean happily blamed the hot sensation in his guts on the booze.

"I've missed this", Cas said, quietly.

Dean instantly knew what he meant. "Missed what?"

"This." Cas made a brief gesture with his hand. _"You."_

Dean's mouth went dry. "Cas—"

"Friends are allowed to say this, aren't they, Dean", Cas said, his smile slowly vanishing.

"Yeah", Dean croaked. "Sure they are."

Cas hesitated. "Did you miss me, too?"

Dean blushed, rubbing his neck. Cas seemed tense, awaiting his answer. "Of course I've missed you, Cas, I love hanging out with you and stuff. You know I do."

"So, did you think about me, too? I mean—a lot?" Now, Cas was looking seriously stressed-out. "Is this normal, Dean? Is this—"

"Shower, bed, wherever, it's pretty normal, Cas, if that's what you're asking", Dean rattled off, furiously flushed now.

"Oh", Cas made, pondering for a second. Then he fell back in his chair, chuckling. " _Oh._ I'm—I'm relieved. Because ever since last Friday, Dean, I'm having trouble controlling my body. It's never been like this before. Yesterday morning, in the shower, I was—"

"Yeah, thanks, Dr. Phil, but we don't talk about these things", Dean quickly tossed in. "People don't _do_ that."

Cas hesitated, and Dean felt his confused eyes on him, heavy as lead. "I—I didn't know that, Dean. I didn't mean to make you feel uncomfortable. You're red all over now. My apologies. From now on, when we're talking, I promise I'll give my erections a wide berth."

Dean closed his eyes. "Great. Thanks."

"You're welcome."

"So, anyway, Sammy and his veganism", Dean awkwardly began, leaning on his elbow. This was probably his wonkiest topic change to date. "I've been thinking, perhaps he's just trying to get Dad back for leaving us. I mean, after all, he's been gone for—uh."

Dean stopped, swallowing, only now realizing that he actually didn't _talk_ about these things. Cas and his friggin' erections, man.

"For how long?" Cas asked, concerned.

Dean avoided his look and shifted on his chair.

"Two weeks", he muttered, barely audible.

Cas narrowed his eyes, leaning slightly forward. "What?"

"Two weeks. I said, two friggin' _weeks,_ okay?" Dean snapped and jumped up from his chair, almost knocking it over. He stood, facing the ground, embarrassed. "Look, I really don't wanna talk about this, Cas, it's just that you're making me _crazy_ right now, and honestly I don't even know what I'm saying. This is between me and Sam. It's nothing. We're fine. And I need to go back to Sammy now, anyway."

Hectically, Dean began gathering his math equipment from the table, stuffed it into his backpack, all the while intently studied by that concerned look.

"You're leaving?" Cas asked. Dean must've imagined the huge amount of disappointment in his voice. "I mean, uhm, do you feel well-prepared for the test tomorrow? I'm afraid we could have practiced more."

Cas followed Dean to the door like a puppy, and eventually, Dean turned around to meet his puppy eyes. Immediately, Dean felt like an ungrateful piece of shit.

"Sure, I think I've caught the basics", Dean lied, faking a smile. "That'll do, I guess."

"Good, good", Cas mumbled to himself, before pointing out the elephant in the room. "And—will you be there? Can I… count on your attendance tomorrow morning?"

The question hung between them for a moment, and Dean felt sort of overwhelmed, mostly because of the blueness of Cas' eyes.

"Yes, I, uh… Yeah. Count on me."

Dean turned to leave and was halfway out the door, when Cas' reached for his arm. He didn't just _reach_ for it, oh no, but he pulled him closer, pulled him back in, and for a strange second Dean thought Cas was going to _kiss_ him or something. Strange, because Dean wasn't even surprised, as if part of him had waited for it to happen all afternoon. He didn't kiss him, though. Hell, of course not. But his lips were pretty damn close.

"I'm sorry that I've made you uncomfortable, Dean", Cas blurted out, dropping his voice. "I promise, I won't ask you about your father again, if that is not what you want. And I know being in class with me is not what you want, either, but Dean, I—I think we're doing proportionately okay so far with 'getting on with it'. So please, just—do it for your brother. And be there with me tomorrow. Can you do that?"

"Yes", Dean croaked, paralyzed. "I can—do that."

"Good. I'm trying to save you from trouble, Dean", Cas went on, quiet. "Always. But I have only limited options. And Crowley cannot be fooled. I've been trying to stay one step ahead of him to—to keep him away from you."

Dean's look swayed between those pitch-black pupils, disbelieving.

Dean's mouth formed inaudible words, and he didn't know why or when, but he found himself staring at those lips again.

Then, Cas let go of him, and Dean nearly stumbled into his arms. Dean let out the air in his lungs with one long sigh, and then gasped for breath, not even aware that he had been holding his breath. He rubbed his sore arm, an automatic gesture, and stepped backwards, slowly.

"Thanks, Cas", he muttered, before breaking the stare by swinging around.

He left Cas alone at the doorstep, but kept him in his mind for hours and hours, even while…


	8. Unfriendly

**Chapter 8**

… Sam was bugging the hell out of him.

"Are you hungry?" Sam asked the second Dean rushed into their cottage's living room.

Sammy was sitting on their couch, all by himself for a change, a steaming bowl on his lap, some sitcom running on TV, and Dean vaguely took notice of the horrible stench hanging in the air. It smelled like rotten eggs. Sam seemed to have noticed his disgusted expression and laughed.

"Oh, it's just cabbage. I know, the smell isn't exactly appetizing, but it actually tastes good. I've made soup, try it yourself", he said, pointing at the kitchen.

"I'm full", Dean replied by default, only this time it was actually true.

Sam raised his eyebrows. "Again? Well, guess I can't force you to eat stuff that's good for you. Anyway, where have you been all day?"

While taking off his jacket and shoes and sitting down on his bed, Dean considered simply ignoring the question. Then, he shortly said: "Lisa's."

"Oh, cool", Sam replied, casually. "Didn't know Lisa's living next door now."

Dean grew stiff. Sam gave another laugh at the sight. "I saw you. We have windows, you know. What've you been up to with him?" Sam grinned. "Cheating on Lisa?"

Dean rolled his eyes. "Yeah, hilarious. It doesn't get funnier the more times you say it, Sam."

"Well, to me it does", Sam replied, annoyingly. "I've never thought he'd be cool to hang out with, honestly. I mean, he's nice and all, but he seems like a total loner to me. Did you just drop by or something?"

"Yeah, no", Dean grumbled, pissed off at Sam's borderless curiosity. He stretched out on the mattress, crossing his arms under his head, staring at the ceiling. He sighed, resignated. "I've told you that we hang out sometimes, Cas and me. Cas sort of _is_ a loner, but … he's a cool guy. He makes me laugh. And when I'm with him, I kinda feel like everything is going to be okay one day."

"Aww", Sam made. Dean blushed, flashing him a lethal look. " _What_ , Dean? I'm just happy for you. I'm happy you found a friend like that. Even if he's thirty-two, looks like the guitarist of some new-age Indie band and has a totally obvious crush on you."

"I'm sorry, _what?"_ Dean squeaked. He swirled around on the mattress to face Sam, who was just watching TV, as if he hadn't just said—well, _that._

"Dean, it's like the most obvious thing that's ever happened", Sam said, zapping. "I mean, he called you a 'good catch' in the car. Hell, not even married couples talk about each other like that."

"Y—yeah, okay", Dean quickly stuttered, blinking. "But we're not married, Cas and me. Not a couple. We're just friends. Buddies. We're—"

"Dude." Sam looked at Dean, brows way up high. "I _know._ "

"Well." Dean awkwardly waved his hand. "Just making sure."

"Yeah, chill, Dean", Sam laughed, watching TV again, spooning his soop. "I don't really care what you're doing in your free time. Or, well, in all of your time. And like I said, Cas does seem pretty nice. I just thought you knew about this. 'Cause it's—boom, in your face, basically. But if you didn't know, well, get this: He basically carries you over the door sill with his eyes, bridal style. But anyway, have you seen this new show _Orange is the new Black?_ It's pretty funny. And prison chicks, dude."

With that, Sam casually propped up his legs on the armrest, and giggled at some dumb joke on TV.

Dean felt as if Sam had just dropped an anvil on his head.

 _He basically carries you over the door sill with his eyes, bridal style._

" _Oh,_ almost forgot", Sam suddenly called out, making Dean flinch. Excited, Sam sat up, facing Dean. "I wanted to talk to you all day about this, although I know you don't want to, but—about your birthday."

Dean shook his head, forcefully snapping out of his Cas visions. He gave Sam an annoyed look. "Sam, how many times have I told you—"

"Alright, alright", Sam laughed. "Calm down. Just wanted to make sure. So, you're not gonna get a single present from me. Nothing, just like you said. Tomorrow's gonna be just another day."

Sam then made a pregnant pause, probably still giving Dean a chance to be like 'hell yeah, let's celebrate my fucking birthday', which was the unlikeliest thing to ever happen besides global peace, and their Dad staying at home for more than two seconds, maybe.

Dean sprawled on the mattress, and uttered an annoyed groan. "If you throw a party, bitch, I swear that tomorrow's gonna be a very special day: The day Sammy died."

Sam nearly choked on his cabbage soup. _Serves him right,_ Dean thought. Soon, his violent coughing turned into hoarse chuckles.

"Dream on, Dean." Sam coughed again. "I wouldn't throw a party for _you._ "

"Well, I sure as hell hope so", Dean grumbled, and pressed his pillow onto his face. "You probably don't even know how to throw one, anyway."

"Jerk."

"Bitch."

Silence.

"'Good catch'".

Dean ripped the pillow off his face and angrily pointed at Sam. "Shut your face!"

Sam just bitch-faced, satisfied.

* * *

Successfully gotten another night of fitful, troubled sleep over and done with, Dean slowly faded into consciousness to the muffled sound of clanking dishes and water running in the kitchen sink. The sunlight was painting his inner eyelids luminously red, indicating a reasonable getting up time, despite Dean's exaggerated tiredness.

Yesterday, Dean had been worrying that—after Cas talking to him about his friggin' random erections —he'd never be able to find sleep again.

And, well, he hadn't been wrong.

Rolling around, Dean briefly thought about giving Sam hell for interrupting his four hours, but eventually decided against it.

Lately, Sammy had kind of joined the insomniacs. Always on the run, he was, bursting with energy, and full of spontaneous ideas. The whole week he'd been raving about the _power of plants_ , _detoxication_ and other weird cult-like stuff no one gave a single fuck about. Except for Jess, of course, who was the one that'd brainwashed Dean's lovey-dovey douchebag of a brother in the first place.

By the time Dean lazily got out of bed, Sam was usually done cleaning the whole cottage twice, knew every single subject matter by heart and meanwhile had incidentally saved the whole world by eating _oat meal_ , _gluten-free whole-grain bread_ or whatever the hell he'd gathered in Green Forest at their doorstep. And now, in spite of what Sammy had said the past evening, Dean wasn't sure if he wanted to find out what the insane tree-hugger might had come up with for his goddamn birthday morning.

Contrary to his horrible expectations, Sammy barely paid any attention to Dean wearily slogging along towards the bathroom.

Sam was just busy carrying the trash out, and only muttered something lame along the lines of "happy normal day", shooting a quick smirk at Dean en passant. Newly 17-year-old Dean couldn't believe it, but—that was it.

No delicious surprise pie, no surprise presents, no surprise anything – literally, nada.

The only wish Dean had had on his sarcastic inner birthday list, the simple _denial_ of said thing, had been miraculously fulfilled, it seemed.

On a less positive note, however, as Dean stepped into the shower, he started to feel kind of sick. Probably it was just his body rebelling against visiting math class, but he couldn't shake the feeling that there was more to it. The bad omen boiling deep down in his empty stomach intensified with every passing minute, the irrational feeling that today's day stood a good chance of overtrumping last Friday's haunting events.

Dean had to force himself to move his lazy ass to school, legs as heavy as lead weights, and guts all churned up inside. When Lisa clasped his hand a few minutes later at their venue, her light-heartedly cackling like a goose, him absently nodding at her words every now and then, he desperately struggled to push the bad feeling away.

Little to no effect.

* * *

Dean and Gabe were just on their way to math class—wonders will never cease—when the day started to become odd.

The two of them were strolling along the student crowded corridors of St. Tipper High, both wearing the tried and trusted shirt-and-shorts-look _._ Meanwhile, everyone else seemed to be happily done with summer already. People were wearing _scarfs._

"I feel so naked", Gabe sighed, theatrically, covering his chest with both hands. "Don't look, Dean-o, I'm so insecure about my womanly curves", he said, mimicking a shrill, high-pitched voice, and Dean laughed at the horrible imitation.

"The hell was that? You really need to get out there and talk to some girls, Gabe. Lousy performance, buddy, seriously."

"Shut up, asshole, you hurt my _feelings_ ", Gabe squeaked, girlishly, and then sneered at Dean. "Two years of dating the same old chick over and over again hardly counts as experience, ya know? You're basically a virgin."

"You're talking bullshit again."

Dean grinned, and scuffed his shoulder.

"Weak!" Gabe breathed out, and raised his voice to that horribly squeaky level again. "You're hitting me, Dean-o, how very _unmanly_ of you! Guess who's not getting it tonight. I will _never_ sleep with you again, _I swear_ —wait a sec—"

Gabe stopped his embarrassingly loud imitation to stare down the crowded corridor to their right.

"—is that Bobberoz? The flying fuck is he doing?"

One quick look was enough to tell Dean—and every other student passing by—exactly what Bobby was doing. The sombrero-wearing janitor was standing in the corridor with some kind of plastic box pressed to his body, cat-calling the hordes of people crowding the corridor like it was the most natural thing in the world.

"Oh, hell no", Dean breathed, making his way through the people, followed by Gabe, who was having a hysterical giggle over the absurd scene. Dean didn't find it funny at all.

"Sellout! Sellout! Ay, _muchacho_ , you look like you could use _un poco de relajación_! No? Well, you're all totally missin' out on Bobby's _torta loca famoso_ —"

"The hell is wrong with you?" Dean grabbed Bobby's shoulder, brutally pushing him aside. "Stop acting like a friggin' barker, man, what's this madness all about, huh?"

"Yeah, Bobberoz", Gabe chimed in, still struggling to calm himself. "This is not some Mexican market place, we have laws around here, ya know, just saying. _No México_ ", he burst out in a deep, grouchy voice, and laughed his ass off about his admittedly not too bad Bobby impersonation.

Dean, however, was still staring at Bobby, accusingly, shaking his head.

"Well, I don't know who bit your asses this morning, _mis amigos_ ", Bobby grunted, smacking Gabe's shoulder, "but I'm just sellin' sweets to the children here." With a smirk, he opened the plastic box in his hands and revealed a reasonable amount of neatly stacked pieces of cake. "Thought I was the paranoid bastard here, not you, son."

"Why—why would you sell Brownies?" Dean shook his head in disbelief, and lowered his voice to a discreet whisper. "God, Bobby, it's like you're friggin' _trying_ to lose your job. It's not funny, man, nobody needs your provocation. Who the hell would buy cake from _you_ , anyway?"

Bobby simply turned to Gabe, pointing at Dean's angry face. "What's up with him this mornin'?"

"Oh, you know", Gabe answered. "He's just grumpy 'cause it's his birthday. Little Dean-o here works a little differently than us normal people… or Mexicans. No offense, Bobz."

"Now, ain't that just _perfect_!" Laughingly, Bobby gave a knock with the fist on Dean's tousled head. Dean couldn't help but smile. "Ay, Dean, you know what—this is my gift for you, my _favorito_. Have them."

He thrust the plastic box into Dean's hands.

"Uh, thanks? But—well, uh, I'm not sure if—"

"C'mon, man", Gabe exclaimed, excitedly. "Don't complain, Dean-o, that's rude. These look awesome, thanks, Bobz."

Bobby grinned in a strangely devious way. „They're out of this world, kid."

Dean and Gabe were just getting ready to move on to math class, when a painfully familiar voice made them jump in surprise.

"Hello, my darlings", Crowley greeted, hands in his coat's pockets, standing in the hallway. Eyes fixed on Bobby, Crowley went on in a quiet, yet demanding tone. "Correct me if I'm wrong, but I'm quite positive that the two of you need to go to class right now. Isn't that right, Dean Winchester? You don't intend to be late to class, do you?"

Dean swallowed, looking at his feet.

Gabe grabbed Dean's shoulder, and the two of them slowly moved away from the scene. Crowley was planting himself dangerously close in front of Bobby, who was now returning Crowley's intimidating look, albeit grudgingly. Dean and Gabe heard Bobby grumbling something inaudible in Spanish, and exchanged an unsteady glance.

"Move along, my underaged friends", Crowley ordered. "Nothing to see here. You might have noticed El Cantante's rather impressive boobs, but I'm afraid to tell you that this is _not a bloody peepshow._ Shoo!"

Disgusted, Gabe grabbed Dean's arm, and dragged him with him.

By now, the school's corridors were completely emptied, and each of their steps re-echoed in the spacious halls. Up until now, Dean had more or less repressed the upcoming encounter with _Mr. Novak_ in all of this trouble, but as he was slowly approaching the classroom, plastic box pressed to his chest, he felt himself becoming a bag of nerves.

Gabe's loud munching noises only made it worse.

 _Help me._

* * *

„Jesus, man, you _need_ to try 'em! Bobberoz is the real shit, dude, holy crap."

"Not now, Gabe, I'm trying to remember what's gonna be in the test, you know, I don't wanna screw this up…"

"Like you care about math. Come on, now. One bite's not gonna hurt. Your brain needs the energy to think."

"I said no, I don't want to, 'kay? God, did you just fucking spit on my face? Gross. Put them away, Gabe, let's go in now, we're already late as hell— _mmhpf!"_

With one quick movement, a fat piece of brownie—Bobby's _torta loca famoso_ —was stuffed into Dean's open mouth. Dean coughed and spit and nearly choked on the slimy chocolate-butter-sugar-mixture, while Gabriel casually knocked on their classroom's door, face all lit up with malicious glee.

"What was that?" Gabe grinned at Dean, innocently. "You love me and want to be like me?"

On the other side of the door, the teacher ordered them to come in—Mr. Novak, precisely.

 _Jesus fuck, it's Cas_ , Dean thought, the nervousness now hitting him with full force like a baseball bat right in the stomach.

"I fucking hate you", Dean repeated, though it was hard to speak when your tongue was drowned in sticky cake. Gabe laughed it off, and opened the door.

The whole classroom was staring at them.

"Uh, hi", Gabe greeted. "Sorry we're late, we, uh… our Dean here found pie."

Dean smiled awkwardly and nodded, while violently trying to chew the goddamn brownie. His puffed out cheeks made him look like a hamster, who'd just found the biggest piece of corn, only in a gross rather than a cute way. Cas was sitting at the teacher's desk, Dean saw out of the corner of his eyes. He didn't dare to meet Cas' eyes.

"Hello, Dean. Gabriel", Cas greeted. Dean could've sworn there was a smile in his voice. "Please take your seats. The test papers are already spread."

"Sure", Gabe replied, and the two of them sat down on their table in the first row. Basically, diagonally across from Cas.

Eventually, Dean managed to swallow the slimy chocolate mixture down with a really loud gulp ( _ridiculously_ loud in the tense pre-test silence), and awkwardly stared at the test paper lying in front of him, seeing the letters but hardly understanding anything. He couldn't shake the feeling that _someone_ was watching him closely—and it wasn't Gabe or Lisa.

"Does anyone have questions?" Cas asked business-like.

 _Why do you always have to wear such tight shirts,_ Dean thought.

"Well", Cas said when no one reacted. "Then I wish all of you good luck. You have thirty minutes for taking the test."

Five silent minutes passed. The only sounds in the classroom were the clattering calculator keys, and the scratchy sounds of twenty pencils writing and drafting on paper simultaneously.

Well, nineteen pencils—Dean seemed to be the only one who had no idea what was going on. It was downright ridiculous. He couldn't concentrate at all, and for some reason he didn't give a damn about it anymore. Even Gabe seemed to be totally into the test, well, at least he was doing _something_ on his test papers.

Half the time was over, when Dean leaned back in his chair and sighed, arms crossed above his head. His eyes lazily wandered around the classroom, as if the answers would be written on the other's faces. He wouldn't look at _Cas_ , though. But he saw the yellow classroom door, for example, or Lisa busily typing on her calculator, someone using their phone under the table, the empty blackboard, the globe, the teacher's desk, _not_ Cas, the—dammit.

Dean had sensed it the whole time, but it'd been only a feeling. Feelings didn't always mean anything, most of the time they were only there to confuse you. Dean knew that too well by now. But really, Cas was sitting leaned over his desk, some magazine lying between his elbows which were resting on the table's surface. His stare—of course—was fixed on Dean.

Dean startled, nearly knocking his desk over in fright.

He'd just _known_ that Cas would be staring at him as soon as he'd look up, 'cause that's what he was always doing, had most definitely done it for the entire lesson, it was his _thing_ , and it was irritating as hell. Dean cursed, silently, and tried to put his focus back on the test, but those goddamn blue eyes worked as drawing and inevitable as magnets. Obviously amused, Cas smiled a secret, crooked, weirdly _infectious_ smile, and Dean just couldn't help but grin down at his test papers like the greatest idiot on the planet.

Dean noticed the numbers, the letters, the mathematical problems and the lines in front of him, but couldn't make sense of any of it. It didn't seem to matter, though. It was only when his facial muscles began to hurt, Dean started to wonder what the _actual_ hell was going on. Because usually, he wasn't the kind of guy who'd have a laughing fit in the middle of a test. Again, he normally wasn't the kind of guy whose heart would race at the feeling of a teacher's look resting on him… _wait a second_.

Gabe turned to smirk at him, glassy-eyed, and fully revealed what he'd been doing the whole time. All over his paper, there was a huge, detailed portrait of a strange butterfly with a human face and, Dean observed randomly, it was actually kind of pretty. A light started to dawn on Dean. As inconspicuous as possible, Gabe mouthed something to Dean that looked like _Bobberoz_.

Taken aback, Dean breathed out, loudly.

So that was the strangely familiar, yet highly inappropriate sensation he'd been feeling in his head ever since the test had started. _The brownies_. Dean was sitting in the middle of math class, supposed to be writing an important math test, all the while studied closely by Cas and he was _as high as St. Tipper's town hall_.

Dean cleared his throat, laboriously trying to get rid of the stupid grin on his face, but it seemed like his muscles were stuck in that position, and Cas, who was now strolling around the classroom all teacher style, only made it worse. Because wherever he went, he just couldn't keep his eyes off Dean for longer than three seconds. And that—friggin' brownies, man—was making Dean irrationally happy.

There was just one small problem. The whole morning Dean had been nervous as fuck, hands all shaky, general feeling of sickness and all that girly crap, and he had had no real clue why and still didn't have one, but what he _could_ say for sure was that his stomach was now starting to rebel again. There were still ten minutes of working time left, and Dean's guts were rumbling as loud as a thunderstorm.

Dean leaned back in his chair, out of breath and suddenly covered in cold sweat. Panting, Dean stared at the ceiling, swallowing hard. He listened to Cas' cautious footsteps at the back of the classroom, and his low voice explaining things to a classmate, whispering.

 _Jesus, don't puke_ , Dean thought, close to hysteria, eyes closed.

"So, you see, it's actually quite simple", Cas whispered. "You just take the given information and then, voilà, you interpose the aggregate one between the unknown A and…"

Dean was as white as snow now, so very contrastive to his dark freckles that were now as eye-catching as never before. _Breathe in, breathe out_ , he told himself mantra-like. _Don't_. _Fucking_. _Puke_.

"Exactly, I believe you might have the hang of it now. Wait, is that… No, that's not going to work. See, I can't go into detail here, but here's another hint…"

The ceiling was spinning, the overhead lights being the center of the cosmos above Dean's whitewashed, sweaty face. A rumbling, a twitching, a traction in his guts, felt everywhere, made a pained, disgusted groan escape his thinned lips. That feeling when you simply _felt_ your stomach. It was the grossest thing. Helplessly, he hiccupped and shivered and _oh god, don't puke, don't puke, don't puke, don't_ —

"No, please don't cry. I'm sure you scored a few correct answers. Look, I can't give you any more hints, but—hey, it's okay, don't cry. Listen, uh, here's a little joke I came up with to cheer you up."

Dean tried really hard to think of anything but cake and fatty chocolate things.

"What's a mathematician's favorite dessert?"

The crying student at the back of the room responded with a hopeless sob.

"Oh God…" Dean groaned. Gabe was watching him, fascinated, and basically once again had a blast at his cost.

"Well", Cas whispered, soothingly.

"It's Pi!"

The following events Dean only knew from Gabriel's insane 'that one time when Dean puked all over a math test'-story he'd told him at a later time—and approximately a million times after that.

Apparently, Dean had squirted a ridiculous amount of puke all over Gabe's and his own papers. "My butterfly!" Gabe had shouted out in horror. „You ruined my masterpiece!" And—of course—everyone had laughed their ass off about it, at least according to Gabe. Then, Gabe had given him absurdly detailed information about the looks, physical condition and quantity of the vomit to make the story more _vivid_ and _lively_ , but no none-pervert person would want to hear that. Then, Gabe claimed, Dean had dramatically passed out and, with a loud, disgusting _splosh_ , his face had landed right in the fresh puke puddle. But yeah, Dean had never really bought that part.

The only thing he knew for sure was the passing out part.

Because it was only at the school's nurse twenty minutes later that he awoke from his dramatic blackout.

* * *

"Dean."

A rusty, excessively deep voice was filtering through to Dean's unconscious mind, but Dean was barely there, underwater. The sound of his name was extending itself in slow motion and, even though he was technically still passed out, he found it creepy as hell.

"Dean. It's me. Castiel. Are you—I think he's waking up."

Waking up felt like coming up after a deep sea dive, at least that was the way Dean had always imagined it. Not like he thought about diving a lot, nor did he do it a lot in his favorite lake, but he also didn't think about Cas watching him sleep a lot, but there he was.

Dean opened his eyes.

He found himself lying on a sick-bed in a white, clinical room with very spare furniture. The air smelled like cleaning agent and—surely an odd mixture—tobacco. The most logical conclusion was that he was located in the nurse's office, but Dean had never been there before, so he could only assume.

Whatever the case may was, anything else but Cas' concerned, gazing eyes was blurry and far, far away. Cas was still there, with all of his frizzy, soft hair, authoritative teacher clothes and that good old fat question mark on his face, so Dean was there, too, he couldn't be dead, 'cause Cas was with him.

Dizzily, Dean reached his hand out for Cas' stubbly chin.

Just to make sure that Cas wasn't an illusion. And also because—let's be honest here—he had an idea at how heavenly it felt. Those dilated pupils were dragging Dean deeper into something that he couldn't name, maybe into some kind of black hole, but possibly into something entirely different.

It was a strange moment when Cas' fingers softly clasped his hand.

Perhaps their warmness and slight pressure was the closest Dean had come to reality in a long time, if not forever. But maybe—and that was the most likely possibility—he was simply as stoned as some reggae fan during some new-age hippie hip-hop concert, and would blast off to the sky any moment.

"Hey, Cas", Dean spoke under his breath.

His fingers squeezed Cas' hand tightly, thumb running over soft, beautifully warm skin, and relieve washed all over Dean. Because Cas was so truly there that Dean could touch and feel him.

"Hello, Dean."

Cas gave a warm, caring smile, one that decorated the corner of his eyes with laughter lines and made his whole appearance glow from the inside out. In a sober state he'd never admit it, but there were times when Dean thought of Cas as the most heartbreakingly adorable thing in the world, and this was one of 'em.

"Why am I here?" Dean asked, breathlessly.

Cas smirked, observing their interlocked fingers. "Oh, that's a long story."

Dean vaguely nodded, as if that had answered his question. Dean couldn't stop thumbing Cas' palm, though deep down he knew that it wasn't okay. Somehow, Cas always made it hard to break the spell.

The school's nurse, however, didn't have any problems on that score.

"You threw up all over your test, darling", she explained from somewhere in the back of the room. "It took me ten minutes and an ice scraper from the janitor to clean that mess up. Can you believe that?" The red-headed woman said while leaning over Dean to put her hand on his forehead, checking for high temperature. _Bet he found that hilarious_ , Dean thought at the mention of Bobby. "Not like that's my job, anyway", she continued while flashing into his eyes with a miniature flashlight. "But who would do it if not me? No one. It's the women who truly run this place, if you ask me. It's one big mega coven, you could say. Or at least it should be. Have you been doing drugs today, darling?"

"Uh, no? Of course not."

"Of course not", she repeated. "Why would you tell me, hm? No one does. Not even my own son tells me what he is up to these days. Is he happy? Is he in love? The world may never know." She shook her head, sighing. "Fergus. He was such a problematic child. But, to be fair, I wasn't world's greatest mother, either. We've all got our very own package to carry, I guess. But anyway. Your pupils are telling me another story, Dean, but I'm pretty sure you know that yourself."

With a wink, she lifted herself off the sick-bed, and elegantly moved towards the door. Then, she turned around and peered back at Dean. Dean was already busy returning Cas' dreamy look again.

"Now, you need a little sugar, hon, to help your circulation", she said. "I'm Rowena, by the way. Very pleased to meet you. I'm going to get you a sugary, refreshing drink from the kiosk and soon you'll be right back on top. I'll be right back, don't run away." She hesitated, door knob in her hand, suspiciously eyeing the two of them. "Mr. Novak, was that the name? I think you can let go of his hand now. He may look like one, but that boy, I'm telling you, is all but a baby."

With that said, she busily left the room, and the door fell shut.

Neither of them reacted to her suggestion.

"Do you feel better, Dean?" Cas asked, his voice lowered to a comforting, quiet tone. He was enclosing Dean's weak fingers with both of his hands now. "You're still very pale in the face. You've been passed out for nearly twenty minutes, and everyone was very concerned about your health. I hope you're better now. I was watching over you."

"Yeah, you always do", Dean breathed.

Smiling, Dean's eyes fluttered shut. For a moment he was drifting away again, but the gentle pressure of Cas' hands made him stay, _want_ to stay a little longer. Being on drugs was weird, really. Not commendable. They made you feel all kinds of real shit and act by intuition, made you do stuff you actually _wanted_ to do and those were never good things.

"I, uh", Cas began, when Dean had been silent for a while. "I occasioned that you'll get a chance to rewrite your test, by the way. So, from another point of view, you have actually done yourself a favor, Dean. I didn't notice any writing from you today."

Dean chuckled at that, thinking that if anyone would know about that, Cas would.

"And, beyond that", Cas continued. "I'd like to visit you later at your place, and check if you're healthy again. Only if that's okay with you, of course. I think my brother can play with himself for a few minutes."

Dean absently nodded at Cas' accidentally ambiguous choice of words, smiling to himself.

"That sounds great, Cas. Thanks."

"My pleasure, Dean."

On a sudden impulse, Dean added: "It's my birthday today, you know."

Dean felt Cas' body stiffen for a moment, surprised by the unexpected information, perhaps not caring at all about it, or thinking that Dean was a pathetic baby. For some reason, Dean was suddenly afraid that Cas would just let go of him, and leave for his following class or, well, just leave. But sometimes Dean's fears were stupid, really. This was not just any guy but _Cas_ after all. And that guy cared a lot about him.

Instead of leaving, Cas decided to do an… interesting thing with his thumb. Copying Dean's movements from earlier, he carefully ran it over Dean's palm, drew circles, drew pictures, bringing back all the memories of the morning he'd caressed his naked arm in the same manner. As if Dean was something fragile or precious, that was how he touched him.

"What a joyless day", Cas replied, eventually.

Dean just smiled. Cas _got_ it.

Surprisingly, Cas still didn't show the slightest inclination of getting up and doing something that was of any importance. He was only there—and that was all. His caress was beyond sweet, and made Dean feel all funny inside. Dean shifted a little, comfortably, lids heavy.

"Hey, Cas?"

Attentively, Cas stopped and took Dean's hand in his own again. "What is it, Dean? Are you in pain? Can I get you anything? Should I—"

"I'm fine, Cas. But—can I tell you something that I shouldn't be telling you?"

"Of course, Dean. You can tell me anything."

Dean paused. "My brother thinks you have a crush on me."

Cas was quiet for a moment. Then, he chuckled, awkwardly. "Wow, that's—strange."

"Yeah", Dean breathed, smiling, numbly. "It is."

"Profoundly."

"Yeah. Probably."

Cas was quiet for another moment. "Can I tell you something I shouldn't be telling you, too, Dean?"

"Sure", Dean grumbled, sleepily, butterflies in his stomach. "Anything."

Dean felt Cas' breath on the back of his hand. Cas hesitated. "This, holding your hand. It makes me feel extremely—"

"— _un_ friendly?" Dean completed.

"Yes."

"Yeah, me too."

For minutes, none of them said anything, Dean just breathing.

"Getting on with it sucks", Dean then muttered, barely audible.

"Yes", Cas agreed, quietly. "I know."

Dean entangled their fingers.

Cas stayed.

Eventually, Dean's conscience faded away, and he couldn't have been safer when he fell asleep, even if he'd had a gun under his pillow.


	9. Schoolboy

**Chapter 9**

 _shouldn't i come over and look after you? pretty sure i still have that nurse costume from halloween. if u know what i mean. xxx_

 _lis, very tempting. VERY tempting. but i'm not really up for anything this evening, except sleeping. stomach's still growling and stuff._

 _sigh. fine. gonna wear the costume another time for u then. as a late birthday present. make sure to get some rest, dean - it's the weekend after all! call u 2morrow. xxx_

 **how're u feeling dean-o? should old gabe come over and nurse you back to health?**

 **dude. lisa just asked me the same. remember that costume she wore last halloween? yeah. i doubt u can compete with THAT. anyway. i'm staying in tonight.**

 **i'm kinda amazed ur girlfriend still has the hots for u after today. oh how it pains me that no one took any photos.**

 **what the hell would u do with a pic of me puking my brains out?!**

 **hang it over my bed, for one thing.**

It wasn't like Dean had never made a fool of himself before. For example that one time—years ago, but still haunting him—he had attempted to strip for Cassie Robinson. Cassie, who'd had the ability to make Dean's head spin with just a simple sway of her hips. And who therefore had easily persuaded Dean into, well, _stripping_ for her. Dean was pretty sure a part of his brain had warned him but hey, not only had Cassie been downright hot, she'd also been the first girl Dean ever had ever gotten to second base with. So yeah, he hadn't thought twice about it. Only Cassie had turned out to be slightly wrong about her parent's not returning before midnight. Because just as Dean's little strip show had been about to reach its high point—in hindsight, the stripping alone had been embarrassing enough—Mr. and Mrs. Robinson had come bursting into the room.

Rest assured, Dean had experienced a lot of embarrassing things before. Which also seemed to be a natural consequence of being friends with Gabe. But throwing up (loudly, voluminously) in front of the whole class _,_ after eating a friggin' hash brownie _,_ and then _passing out_ (possibly with his head in his own puke, he still hadn't dared to ask anyone but Gabe about that), it had just truly taken the cake, quite literally.

 _And, oh wait, let's not forget about the fact how I afterwards got all touchy-feely with Cas in the school nurse's office whilst being high as a kite,_ Dean thought. _And how he touched me like I'm some kind of fragile baby floret… and how I didn't complain._

Of course, Dean hadn't gone back to class after the whole math incident. After waking up the second time, and with fortunately neither the nurse nor Cas to be seen, Dean had simply crept out of the office, and had simply gone home. Which come on, couldn't be counted as skipping all things considered.

The rest of the day he'd spent barricading himself at home. Or in other words: Not being willing to leave the couch ever and watching all kinds of crap TV (mostly Dr. Sexy MD re-runs, that, excuse you, were simply _brilliant)._ Anything to distract him from what had happened.

With a frustrated groan he buried his face in one of the dusty couch pillows.

 _Screw Friday night. No way I'm showing my face to anyone today._

Dean had not told his little brother anything that had happened, just that he was feeling a bit sick. But that turned out to be even worse, because instead of laughing his ass off, Sammy had started fussing over Dean like some kind of mother hen, making him weird organic herbal teas and shit. Even though the hand holding incident with Cas had given a different impression, Dean technically didn't like being fussed over, especially not while he was embarrassed to the bone.

At least Sam had refrained from dropping lines like „aw, man, and it's your birthday after all". Well, his brother should be used to the whole _technically it's Dean's birthday except it's not_ thing by now. To Dean's relief, Sam had given up on worrying at some point—Jess had called and asked if he wanted to hang to which Sam replied _yeah deffo—_ and had left Dean sulking on the couch. Dean had only reacted to Sam's parting by putting the hood of his sweat jacket up. That at least had earned Dean a small chuckle.

Dean took a quick look at the clock.

6 p.m. already.

Cas had said he'd wanted to come over, and—

Never mind.

Dean wasn't obsessed with the whole Cas-coming-over thing. He was _not._

Crossing his arms, he fixed his eyes back on the TV screen. Sadly, the Dr. Sexy MD re-runs had ended and now he was left with Grey's Anatomy, which was a) seriously over the top and b) just a plain copy of Dr. Sexy MD. Getting slightly bored, Dean considered taking a walk—a.k.a. having a smoke outside. Rolling his eyes at no one in particular, Dean got up—

—and the doorbell rang.

Dean didn't freeze with the initial fear of his father waiting at the doorstep. He knew there was no way that of all days, John Winchester would choose his son's _birthday_ to return home. Yes, Dean's birthday was a tricky topic and yes, his Dad was one of the reasons why it was tricky in the first place.

 _It's probably Sam. He's always forgetting his key._

 _Or Cas. He did say he wanted to check on me at some point, didn't he? No big deal._

How Dean wished the sheer probability of facing Cas in a matter of seconds wouldn't make him blush all over, and not make his hands all sweaty, which was gross, and not to mention inappropriate. Nervously, Dean tried to flatten the mess of his hair, and straightened his sweat jacket, whilst being all too aware of all the holes in his jeans. He stopped himself and took a deep breath. Cas had seen him throwing up all over the place today. So, dude—whatever.

Bravely, Dean turned the doorknob.

And found himself face to face with a stranger.

 _Show-off,_ Dean couldn't help but think.

Quickly, he gave the guy in front of him the once-over. A slender man in his mid-thirties—Dean wasn't sure, he'd never been any good at guessing people's ages—whose appearance, admittedly, could really steal one's show. He was dressed up all smartly, wearing brown leather boots, expensive-looking, tight jeans, a grey V-neck shirt that was revealing quite a lot of tanned chest, and a black leather jacket. His blonde hair was messy, but—unlike Cas' bed hair—the weirdly stylish kind of messy. Plus, he had this sort of tough and rough stubble going on. Again, unlike Cas', whose stubble was more of the _shaving, what is shaving_ kind.

„Oh, goodness. Are _you_ Dean Winchester?" The guy said, eyebrows raised and revealing quite a posh sounding accent.

Dean instantly didn't feel like being polite—on the other hand, when did he ever—and put on his best don't-fuck-with-me face.

„Well, yeah. Do I know you?"

The guy's blue eyes sparkled with amusement, mustering the grumpy teenager in front of him. Before he could reply however, Cas came bursting around the corner.

„Balthazar, what do you think you're doing?"

The guy, _Balthazar,_ sighed and turned around.

„Talking to Dean Winchester, that's what I'm doing", he said, innocently. Then, noticing the look on Cas' face—a mixture between annoyance and I-don't-understand—he added: „Oh, calm down, Cassy, will you? You can't give such a present and expect me to not take a look at the kid who's responsible for it."

And with that, he went back to eyeing Dean, curiously.

It took Dean a moment to catch up with the situation, because the sight of Cas was pretty damn distracting. Striding towards them, he was wearing nothing but a grandpa-ish looking bathrobe, face all flushed and hair still dripping. Obviously, he'd jumped right out the shower. Dean tried not to gawk at all the bare skin Cas' ugly bathrobe failed to cover. Luckily, his mind still managed to put two and two together.

„So, that's your brother, then?" Dean said, tearing his eyes away from Cas' delicate neck.

„Yes. This is my older brother Balthazar", Cas replied with a pained expression. He shifted uncomfortably. „We're going out tonight, as I told you yesterday, to celebrate his birthday."

 _To which you're of course really looking forward to, right?_ Dean thought and smiled, sympathetically.

Balthazar, clearly enjoying his little brother's discomfort, patted Cas on the shoulder. „There, there, Cassy. We're just going to a bloody bar. You look like I'm planning to take you clubbing, for god's sake." He looked at Dean. „Ha. I _did_ take him clubbing once, though. Back when he was in college."

The memory made Balthazar laugh and Cas cringe. Dean dimly wondered what Cas' childhood had been like, growing up with a guy like that. And possibly even more siblings, Dean did not know.

„Fun times", Balthazar went on. „But anyway, Dean Winchester, here's the thing. Every year I'm receiving the dullest presents you can imagine from my brother—no offense, Cassy—and today I was standing in front of him, thinking _oh boy, I wonder what boring book I'm getting this year,_ and then, without a comment, he puts this _thing_ on the table!"

Dean could't help but grin at that. He'd just known the present would be perfect.

„Absolutely hilarious! And so I was saying to Cassy _No bloody way you came up with that!_ And he told me a friend had helped him choose it. And I thought _friend? Well, that's a first_ —aw, come on, don't look so sulky, Castiel—because you know, my brother isn't really the friends type. And after a good while of nagging—brother, would you stop wiggling about, it's my birthday and therefore I am allowed to talk, am I not?—Anyway, after a while of nagging, Cas spilt the beans about this mysterious friend of his. And." Balthazar paused to actually breathe for a second. „And, Dean, then I had to take a look at you myself. Since of course Castiel's very first buddy has to be no one but the _neighbor's kid_ who also happens to be his _student!_ Sounds a tad odd, doesn't it?"

The man smiled at Dean, obviously expecting some kind of statement of him.

Dean quickly glanced at Cas, whose face had gone red as a beetroot. A reaction Balthazar had obviously been aiming for. And a reaction that was kind of nice to look at. But despite the distraction, there was no way Dean would let the guy win this little game. He'd had enough of embarrassment today.

„Well, you know", Dean simply replied. "I was pretty much flunking math, and Cas was nice to help me out. Plus, he's fun to hang out with. He's a cool guy. And a great teacher. " Dean shrugged. „No big deal."

He concentrated on keeping a straight face, because really? Calling what was and had been going on between him and Cas _no big deal_ was a big fat lie, and Dean was all too aware of that.

Balthazar gave an amused huff. Then he turned to Castiel. „You could have told me that he looks like some bloody Calvin Klein model. I expected some scrawny teenager, spotty-faced and brace-wearing", he muttered as if Dean wasn't standing right in front of him.

Cas just frowned in response. Well, he could at least have agreed or something. Dean crossed his arms, feeling weirdly self-conscious now.

„So... I guess you two want to get going soon?" He shot Cas a look.

 _This is your way out, man, take it._

Thankfully, Cas got the hint. „Yes. Yes, we do. I've made some reservations and—"

„Why don't you join us, Dean?" Balthazar interrupted.

Then, since neither his brother nor his first buddy gave any indication of responding anytime soon, Balthazar went on, breaking the dumbfounded silence.

„Well, it would be fun, wouldn't it, Cassy? Make us feel young again. Especially you, always pondering over one thing and another, wearing that deep frown of yours."

Dean watched Cas frown harder at his brother's words, and, becoming aware of what he was doing, attempt to smoothen his features, which just looked really awkward and sort of painful.

„Balthazar", Cas then said, tentatively „Dean is ill. And I highly doubt he wants to—"

„Nonsense!" Balthazar interrupted again, and looked at Dean. „You certainly don't seem to have any plans tonight, the way you're dressed, boy. And what could possibly be wrong with eating a nice steak in the company of your dear friend and his oh-so-curious brother? Because frankly, I'm dying to know what Cassy has been up to the last few weeks. And since he won't tell me, you sure have some gossip for me."

„There's nothing to tell!" Dean blurted out, thinking of all the things between him and Cas that _would_ make for some juicy gossip. He cleared his throat. „I mean, I really don't want to disrupt your evening. You haven't seen each other for a while, probably got lots of catching up to do." He glanced at Cas. „Right?"

Unfortunately, Cas didn't get the hint this time. „Dean, you wouldn't disrupt our evening."

Cas turned to Balthazar, his bathrobe's belt slowly working itself loose. And revealing, well, not like Dean could see a lot of it (he wasn't actively trying or anything), a pale, flat stomach and _thighs._ Cas was too confused to notice it.

"Balthazar, would it be socially acceptable for Dean to—"

"Well, Cassy, I'm sure you two can work this out, can you?" Balthazar smirked. "I'll give you some privacy."

Cas' brother turned around, and while walking— _dancing_ —he added, teasingly: "Oh, and would you mind covering yourself, dearest brother of mine?"

Cas looked down himself. Hesitant, as if he was trying to understand why the robe had betrayed him, Cas knotted the belt tight. At the sight, Dean was embarrassed, flustered, because _Cas fumbling around his crotch._ Dean stuffed his hands in his jeans' pockets, trying hard not to let his inappropriate feelings show.

"So, uh", Dean began, clearing his throat. "Guess I don't have anything better to do. If it's cool with you, I mea—"

"Yes, it is", Cas shot out.

He shortly met Dean's stare, and his tense face softened into a weak smile. "It's uhm, very 'cool with me' indeed. My nerves are quite frayed already, as you might have noticed. I could really use your—your company tonight. If you're feeling better, that is. Are you feeling better, Dean?"

"Uh, yeah. Better. I'm feeling better, yeah."

"Good, good", Cas muttered. He quickly looked over his shoulder, and then gave Dean an apologetic look. "Like I said, he really has no boundaries. My apologies. He makes me feel deeply uncomfortable."

"It's fine, Cas." Dean shrugged. Then, he smirked. "I'll hold your hand if it makes you feel better."

Cas swallowed, mouth-opened.

Crap. Dean remembered the nurse office, stuttering. "That—uh—that was a joke, Cas."

"Oh." Cas shyly glanced at him. "Okay."

Dean scratched his cheek. "Uh—yeah. Maybe I should, you know. Get dressed now."

"Ah. Yes." Cas quickly looked Dean up and down, which made Dean feel hot all over. "You don't need to change, though. You're looking—you're looking good, Dean."

They exchanged a long-drawn-out glance.

"Yeah", Dean nodded, voice hoarse, looking down. He slowly backed off inside the house, making an awkward finger-gun at Cas. "Yeah, okay. Thanks. I'll keep that in mind. And you, uh—you're looking just amazing, man."

"Thank you, Dean", Cas said, earnestly. "For everything."

At the emotions in Cas' look, Dean stopped dead. A wave of affection rushed through him, relentless, and he felt a reasonable amount of pride. In spite of how shitty, horrible and shameful the day had turned out so far, and no matter how much Dean felt like hiding himself from the rest of the world forever, the half-naked man standing in front of him was a whole different story. Cas trusted, _needed_ him.

"I'll be there in a sec", Dean said, shyly smiling.

Cas just nodded, eyes saying it all, and went off.

* * *

 _The Ramshackle Hut_ had been driving St. Tipper's people to the edge of despair for decades, so it was only fitting that the bar sat on the edge of the town.

Too far away to just go and grab a beer, too close to deny its existence.

The musty, decayed insult of a bar was a real tragedy, and a great example for good old times gone wrong. It was a wrung-out family business, only kept alive for the ancestor's sake, and the second home of a few thrown-out ex-husbands, ex-whatever. The mecca of the aimless and nameless. A depressing as hell place—excluding the fact that it was situated in friggin' St. Tipper, the diva of retirees-meet-bored-to-death-teenagers-towns and therefore a mere depression in itself.

 _The Ramshackle Hut_ truly lived up to its name and was definitely numbering among those mysterious 'What, that shithole still exists?' places. So, all things considered, it wasn't too far-fetched to say that the town's only bar simply _sucked._

On the bright side, however, nobody would run into Dean and the two distinct brothers at this place. Hell, Dean himself hadn't been to this bar in about five years, thanks to his Dad relocating his drinking habits into their cottage's living room.

The three of them were sitting together on a mustard, damned uncomfortable corner booth in the middle of said bar that Friday evening, halfway-eaten fast food dishes and beer bottles placed on the round table between them.

 _Oh, what the hell,_ Dean thought, trying to enjoy his night out without further thought—well, trying.

If he wanted to spend time with Cas, he reasoned with frustration, then that'd be exactly what he'd do, for Christ's sake. It wasn't Dean's fault that Cas had to be his friggin' math teach, he hadn't asked for it. And it wasn't forbidden to just hang out with your neighbor. Fantasizing about his lips every now and then couldn't be considered a crime, either. Or, well, about his dick. So, whatever.

And this was the friggin' _Ramshackle_ _Slut_ (yes, Gabe's invention) after all. Nobody here cared about anything and—Dean casually scanned the darkened, dirty room that looked like some of its dust could be counted as an antiquity—barely anyone was even around tonight.

"What are we looking for, Mr. Dean Winchester? Or may I say _whom?"_

Balthazar tossed Dean a challenging look while cutting the sticky, fat dripping cheese pizza on his plate in bite-sized pieces.

Not knowing how to respond (oh, how much Dean hated people that knew how to do this), he just shrugged and downed the rest of his beer, unable to move his stare away from Balthazar's odd behavior.

Cas, who'd thrown on a surprisingly clean plain white shirt—tight as hell—under his fairly dirty trench coat, too, was staring at Balthazar. But more in an exasperated, rather than in a fascinated sort of way.

Eating pizza—or fast food in general—with knife and fork was, to Dean at least, a beyond strange thing to do in the first place, but at a place like this one it was downright provocative, parodying at its finest. Dean wasn't sure whether Cas' older brother simply couldn't stop showing off his British-but-not-really-manners, or if he was the greatest douche.

So far, Dean found it pretty much safe to say that it was most likely a mixture of both. And that he most likely wouldn't become a huge fan of the—nicely described—sarcastic gentleman in the course of the evening.

"Come on, schoolboy", Balthazar went on, unimpressed by Dean's lame reaction. "With a face like yours the girls must be all over you. Don't be so shy, that's boring. We want to hear all about your young lady, am I right? Aw, Cassy, don't give me that look now, I'm just asking the questions that you don't dare to ask, it's not like I'm _molesting_ the boy—just thank me later, will you?"

Balthazar winked at Cas, squeezing his shoulder.

"So, _Dean",_ Balthazar went on, leaning back. "Excuse my little brother, he's a tiny bit prude, but luckily that is where the both of us distinguish. Anyway, what was I saying? Oh, right— _right._ Almost had me off topic there for a second, Dean Winchester. Well played, my friend. _Well_ played. So, who _is_ that 'girlfriend' that you're so nervously awaiting? Or why else are you constantly looking around this truly magnificent ambience as if you're expecting the bloody FBI to come bursting in at any moment?"

Balthazar waved his hand, impatiently, as if to express: Stop fussing and tell us already. Making Dean feel like _he_ had been the one to blab without breathing, not Cas' sassy brother.

"Uh", Dean made, slayed by the waterfall of words. Dammit. "Guess I kinda missed the point."

"Wonderful", Balthazar exclaimed. "A true conversational genius, you are, aren't you. Well, schoolboy, you have the right to remain silent. Our dear friend Castiel, however, would _really_ like to know about your love life, so perhaps you'll tell _him."_

Again, Balthazar winked at Cas. Cas' nervous look switched between Dean and Balthazar, eyebrows furrowed, mouth falling open and quickly shut again.

"Listen, man", Dean began, trying to help Cas. "I'm not waiting for anyone. If you want to ask me something, well, then just go straight ahead. There's no need to drag Cas into this… conversation."

For a moment, Balthazar just mustered Dean in a kind of approving way. Dean tried his best not to back off.

"I like your confident attitude." Balthazar sneered at Dean. "But I'm afraid you got this all wrong, sunny boy, so let me give you a tad of insight on this one, why don't you. See, besides yourself there are two people sitting around this table, one of them is—excuse my language—simply shitting you, and the other one is—how do I put this?—in serious, desperate need of some answers."

"I'm _not_ waiting for anyone, jeez", Dean snapped, defensive, not really seeing what Balthazar was getting at. "Not for my girlfriend or anyone else. I'm just here. With Cas—and with… _you."_

"Balthazar, please", Cas piped up. "You're upsetting Dean."

"Thanks, Cas, but I can speak for mys—"

Dean choked on the last word. It surely was meant as a protective, calming gesture, but Cas' sudden touch on Dean's _knee_ under the table happened so abruptly and unexpected that his heart took a giant leap, and his skin started prickling all over. Unexpected. That was it. Definitely just a surprise reaction. And possibly all the girlfriend talk also had something to do with Dean's excitement. Cas' hand on his knee under the table making him get all hot and bothered, nowhere less than right between his friggin' legs to be precise, that'd be highly inappropriate and fucked up and _goddammit, take your fucking hand away._

Cas didn't even look at him. He was just firmly staring at Balthazar, while casually doing his touching thing, and for some reason, his casualty was the worst part—or best? Wait, what—because the touch felt so hidden, and covert, and forbidden, and holy damn, so _good…_

"How colorful", Balthazar interrupted the sudden silence. "So you're waiting for your boyfriend, then?"

Feeling weirdly caught, Dean winced, and snatched Cas' hand as if his touch wasn't all he had ever dreamed of. He tore it away, far away from his leg and pressed it on the seat cushion instead, a little too violent, but not at all minding if he was hurting Cas right now. For that, Dean received an irritated, pained look from Cas. He was kind of red in the face, too, Dean noticed, but in the dimmed light it was hard to tell. Dean was just unable to reopen his cramped fingers. Hell, he was on the verge of getting a major hard-on, and it was all Cas' fault.

"Well", Balthazar went on with an amused huff, closely mustering them. "Looks like I found a weak spot there." Suddenly, he playfully banged his palms on the table, and Dean almost had a heart attack. "Dean Winchester, I take my hat off to you. I must say you are one mildly entertaining young fellow. Perhaps a tad too quick-tempered for my liking, but we've all been there, haven't we, Cassy?"

Balthazar smiled at the two of them, self-congratulatory. Cas just continued to sit upright, gazing into the distance with a concentrated expression, as if he wasn't even with them anymore. Dean awkwardly turned his hot face away from Balthazar, his sweaty hand still clung to Cas' fingers. He had probably broken Cas' hand by now, but Dean hardly even realized he was still pressing it, for the turmoil in his stomach, between his legs, in his head and everywhere else was already way too much to handle.

"Looking anywhere particular, or are we just showing off our ravishingly beautiful profile, schoolboy?"

Dean looked up, hating himself for reacting to the nickname. Balthazar flipped some peanut puff into his mouth, and smiled innocently (and fairly douchey) back at him.

"Alrighty, folks", Balthazar then yawned, clapping his hands on the table surface again, making the bottles clink. "I do enjoy talking to myself, really do, but it'd be nicer if we'd all loosen up a bit more, wouldn't it? I'm going to get us another round. Unless Dean's bedtime has arrived yet, that is. In that case I will—as a true cavalier—drive my little brother's first friend—no offense, Cassy—right back to his doorstep myself."

Balthazar made a move to get going, but then—of course—leaned in again, because—who'd have known—he wasn't finished yet. _Was he ever?_

"Frankly, I'm dying to know what else Cassy has been keeping from me. A dirty side job? A secret hobby? Another friend? You'll tell me, Dean, will you?"

In response, Dean just scowled at him. Laughingly, Balthazar rumpled Dean's hair up.

„Aw, sweetheart. You ought to do something about that horrible fringe, though, if you're intending to keep up with the pretty boy angel to your right. After all, you want to look all lovely and get-at-able for him, don't you?"

With that, and an obnoxious wink, he finally headed for the bar and left Cas and Dean—equally blushed—to themselves. However, the biggest part of the built-up tension inside of Dean was eased as soon as he knew the guy in safe distance. Relieved, he exhaled, and remembered that—oh, yeah—he was still kind of _holding Cas' hand._

As if it'd been burned, Dean stressfully tore his hand away from Cas, only to hide it shamefully in his sweater's pocket, which didn't feel a whole lot more graceful. Cas let out a painful hiss. He was moving and turning his squashed hand in front of his eyes as if he'd never seen it before, as if he was trying to understand where the pain was coming from.

"Sorry 'bout that", Dean mumbled, apologetically. "Guess I sort of crushed your bones."

Cas' look wandered around, as if woken up from a dream. Then, he found Dean's uncomfortable appearance. As much as Dean hated it, he couldn't help but lock eyes with Cas.

"No, it's fine", Cas said in a strangely soft voice. "That was a fascinating experience, wasn't it? What you did with my hand, I—wow. I've never felt that many emotions within a couple of minutes before. Pain, stress, embarrassment, and, uh—"

Cas broke off, glancing at Dean.

"—other."

Dean shifted, quickly looking away. "Yeah, yeah, I get what you mean. Wasn't really my cup of tea, though. The whole, y'know, experience."

Cas was silent for a moment. "It wasn't?"

"Uh, no, Cas. Dunno about you, but I'm not the type of guy who's into getting grilled by the police."

Dean turned to Cas, meaning to share a solitary look with him, 'cause Balthazar really _was_ as bad as Cas had described him, but then Dean's mouth just hung open, 'cause Cas was shyly staring at his crotch, where the situation admittedly wasn't as critical anymore, but still clearly visible.

Both of them jumped when Balthazar suddenly slammed the beer on the table in front of them, chuckling, delighted in mischief. Cas immediately grabbed for one of the bottles, keeping a straight face, but Dean, even though he was trying hard to look anywhere but at friggin' Cas, didn't fail to notice those uncoordinated hand movements of his, and well, the way he almost dropped the bottle, twice. Not knowing what to do with himself, Dean pulled out his pack of cigarettes and, with a long, deep drag, lit one up.

"Woah, bad boy Winchester" Balthazar exclaimed, brows raised. "Are you even allowed to do that, at your tender age? Smoking without offering one to your companions?"

That, finally, earned Balthazar a tiny grin from Dean.

A very tiny one.

The following hours were some of the longest in Dean's life. Balthazar was basically talking non-stop, interrogating Dean—and Cas—like they hadn't met only the same evening. Even as Dean and Cas slowly started to loosen up—alcohol did it once again—the trio was still a rather difficult constellation, though a certain fun factor was definitely undeniable.

Every now and then, Dean shot a quick glance at the one to his right, smiling, thinking how surreal this whole situation seemed, and how thrilling Cas was looking in this light, in the smoke, at this place. He remembered how they'd held hands twice in the course of one day, holy shit, what a fucked up day, no, they hadn't actually held hands, and if they had then it had probably been kind of accidental, scary, screwed up, wrong…

Inevitable.

And from time to time, Cas returned Dean's look, smiling a crooked smile, sending a flash all the way down to Dean's toes. A smile that made Dean feel alive, present, safe and sound, arousing odd sensations inside of him, ones he couldn't name.

Maybe he didn't need to.


	10. Cuddly

**Chapter 10**

"Oh, boy, I wonder what I'm going to name it", Balthazar said in awe, possibly—most likely—sarcastic.

He was standing by Cas' big oak table, smiling, and as he turned Dean's gift around in his hands again and again his smile slowly widened into a sleazy grin.

"I mean, it's so precious, lovely and hilarious! I'm going to have such fun times with this. Christ, I'm _already_ having fun. It must be a name that's truly worthy of its originality… a name that just screams hello, I'm an awfully hilarious present from bloody Dean Winchester, and who the hell are you?"

He cackled wildly, receiving nothing but another eye roll from Cas, who was just closing his cottage's door, blocking out the chilly September night air.

It was shortly after eleven, and the three of them found themselves in Cas' living room, pretty much sober, tipsy at best. The beer had been mostly water, as it was a lot more profitable than actual booze when your business was practically dead.

Dean was just making himself comfortable on the red couch, arms hanging lazily across the backrest. Cas, Dean observed, was all busy taking off his trench coat, and revealed a spot of pale, soft skin under his now rather rumpled white shirt while putting the jacket on the clothes rack.

 _Dude seriously needs to get some longer shirts,_ Dean thought, totally randomly, and casually turned to watch Balthazar to make some more pointedly random observations.

Sure, at some point during the twenty-minutes car ride back to Fleeing Deer Street, Dean—of _course—_ had reconsidered whether or not it was rude or inappropriate to simply tag along with the brothers, since they didn't see each other a lot and all that. But then again, Cas' thankful puppy-eyes spoke volumes whenever he met them. And honestly, Dean wasn't too eager on returning home to Sammy just yet. Not before the clock struck twelve, and his holy friggin' birthday was finally over.

"It's cold in here", Cas declared, matter-of-factly.

Dean's curious look followed him as he squeezed past Balthazar, who was still playing with his new toy. Cas kneeled down in front of the rusty woodstove that Dean, whyever, had always taken for an old-fashioned decoration thingy, not something you could actually _use._ Especially not in the middle of summer. But apparently, that was exactly what Cas was up to. He fiddled with some longish lighter and moved a couple of big wood blocks into the stove, in a kind of adept way, Dean noticed. He was actually making a fire. It may sounded girly and cheesy and yes, it probably was, but when that first spark hit the dry wood, and soon formed a solid, glowing flame, a ray of that light also dawned on Dean.

Summer was clearly over, he realized. One way or another.

"Yes, that's better", Cas spoke to himself while closely observing the dancing flame behind the soot-blackened stove door.

The sizzling sound of burning wood surely was a nostalgic tune to Dean's ears. It awoke long forgotten memories of cold winter nights so many years ago, back when the Winchester's had still been some kind of family. In the cozy silence of Cas' living room, Dean could almost hear the voice he constantly tried to keep in mind, always afraid of forgetting the sound, his mother's soft, warm voice, the way she'd forever say to him—

"That's utter _bollocks!"_

Balthazar angrily stormed across the room, fancy leather boots clattering loudly on the wooden floor boards, making Dean flinch and snap back into reality in a rather less solemn way.

"What's up—"

" _What's up, what's up, dude!_ Please, spare me that bloody Dean Winchester slang right now", Balthazar snapped. "My new jacket is still at that Ramsh-blah-blah-place, I must have left it there! Why didn't you two remind me? Do you think this some kind of sick game? Or are you just so wild about each other that you cannot possibly wait to get rid of me? Just leave my precious attire out of it, would you?"

Cas, who'd just been adjusting the burning wood in the woodstove, awkwardly tripped and landed on his ass. Dean was staring at his own feet, trying hard not to show any kind of reaction to Balthazar's words.

"Aw, boo-hoo, Cassy, stop crying, would you? You just fell on your luxury buttock, but I possibly just lost my bloody branded leather jacket! _I_ should be the one having a good cry on Dean Winchester's shoulder! You wouldn't _believe_ how much the jacket is worth! A bloody treasure!" Suddenly, Balthazar's voice went downright anxious. "Quick, Cassy, lend me your car keys, I need to save my baby from those greedy tramps and alcoholics, oh my, those are the worst…"

"They lie on my bed", Cas said, bobbing up. "Or, wait, I might have put them in my pockets. Or, uh, in my coat. No, I believe they must lie on the passenger seat. That happens sometimes."

"Brilliant. Thank God for your overweening tidiness", Balthazar sputtered. The sudden sight of Cas' know-it-all-brother being all fussy and out of concept was pleasing Dean more than it probably should. "I'll hurry. I hope for this town's sake that my jacket hasn't landed on the black market yet. Who knows with these skanky redneck towns. And don't get up to any nonsense while I'm gone, Cassy. I'd hate to miss _that."_

That said, Balthazar winked at the two suggestively—there had always got to be time for that—and then span round on his heel. He slammed the door shut, leaving Cas standing in the middle of the room without a use. _Don't blush,_ Dean ordered himself, desperate, not willing to give Cas' brother that satisfaction, 'cause hell, those lines didn't work on Dean, hell no, his heart wasn't pounding as if it was going to burst or anything.

 _Don't. Friggin'. Blush. Don't. Bl—_

—Goddammit. At least Cas didn't see his face, or even understood the situation. Dean could easily tell apart his friend's I-don't-understand and oh-god-why-face by now. In the distance, the sound of Cas' brother dashing to the Chevy like his life depended on it was plainly audible.

A felt second later, the engine was gunned in a very unhealthy way and the ridiculously loud screech of the wheels effectively yanked the two of them out of their—Dean's—awkward stiffness.

 _Say something._

"So", Dean blabbed, mindlessly. "Looks like it's only the two of us now."

"Yes", Cas agreed, and moved to take place on the couch next to Dean. So close, he sat, that he was forcing Dean to awkwardly keep his arm lying on the backrest behind his neck. "Since Balthazar just left, I guess that means there's no one else around."

First, Cas was facing the ground, before cracking a smile at Dean that could've easily lit up the room all by itself.

"So, uh." Dean shifted on his seat, his mind an empty space. "What a day, huh? You probably didn't see that coming when you got up this morning. Me blowing up your class and all that, puking everywhere…"

 _Wow, what a clever change of topic,_ Dean silently congratulated himself. _Why not mention that one night you sat on Cas' boner while you're at it?_

Cas, however, just chuckled. The low-pitched, gorgeous, now definitely _too_ close sound of it made Dean's flesh crawl.

"No, I certainly didn't. But seeing you there today, I have to say, made me very happy. In fact." Cas paused to catch Dean's avoidant look again. "Having you here right now makes me very happy, Dean. I was afraid my brother might scare you away, but… you're still here."

Yes, he was still here, and he was left a little speechless. He broke the way too intimate eye contact and gave a shy smile, while violently pushing the irritating feeling of his stupid flattering heart to the back of his mind.

"Yeah, uh, guess I can be kind of a leech sometimes."

A poor attempt at taking the deeper meaning out of Cas' words, but poor was just his second name, was his attribute, like delicious was to pie. As Cas was just about to say something, Dean broke him off by suddenly bursting out laughing like an idiot. The events just before his dramatic blackout now came back to him without a warning. Dean snorted with laughter, remembering all of today's Mr.-Novak-in-action impressions.

"What the hell was that whole 'Pi'-joke all about today, Cas? Jeez, man, are you always like this in class, I mean, like—really? _Pi?_ Some quality humor right there, man."

At that, Cas chuckled to himself in a kind of remorseful way, the downy hair of his neck lightly tickling Dean's arm as he leaned back.

"Oh, that." Cas stared up to the ceiling, smiling. "I know plenty of these, actually. I've collected them. Some of these are quite entertaining, Dean, and sometimes they're just… all I've got. Since I've never been any good at reacting to crying students or any of the kind. But, well, anyway", Cas finished abruptly, and turned his head to face Dean with a smirk. His head was now leaning against Dean's arm very… tangibly. And intimately.

"Your tan line is showing."

Dean darted a baffled look at Cas. "My what?"

"Oh", Cas giggled. "It's just another math shenanigan. Tan as in tangent… Do you understand?"

"Uh, yeah", Dean lied, not very convincing, and shook his head with amusement. "You're such a geek, Cas."

"Well, yes, I guess I am quite fond of my subject", Cas answered, unaffectedly. "Here's another one: A square angle and a triangle walk into a bar…"

Just like that, Cas rattled off his complete math jokes repertoire, and Dean, naturally getting not even half of the puns, was laughing his ass off nonetheless. The serious manner in which Cas was telling the childish, plain, hell, even _dirty_ jokes was simply priceless. His clumsiness definitely had some kind of unknown comedic value.

Plus, Dean had never heard Cas say anything explicitly sexual before and it was well, _funny,_ 'cause Dean wasn't sure if he even knew what he was saying. Also, the happy glow in his eyes was definitely worth watching, and the way he was still grinning at jokes he'd probably heard a million times already, how he licked his dry lips every now and then… so full… soft-looking, with a delicious pink blush…

"… and it wasn't Balthazar's fault, I just saw you together with Lisa Braeden a couple of times. So I thought out loud as I was wondering why you wouldn't spend your birthday with your girlfriend, or if she even really _is_ your girlfriend for that matter, how long you might have been together, whether or not you are happy with her, the likeliness of the possibility that you're only with her because you're scared of being lonely, and, well, just a small quantity of other things. And unfortunately, he decided to interrogate you about it at the bar. My apologies."

"W—what?" Dean looked up in surprise, blushing hard. "Oh, uh, never mind. I—I don't celebrate it anyway", he stuttered, hoping that he'd guessed right.

 _Get a fucking grip,_ he thought. _You're obviously drunk as fuck._

"Good." Cas nodded, sympathetically. "I'm glad we've talked about it. I'd hate to build up any kind of tension between us, since we're working on 'getting it on' and all."

"Yeah, uhm." Dean coughed. Cas' words went right between Dean's legs. "It's still 'getting on with it', Cas, not—not 'getting it on'."

"Ah, yes", Cas said, mindlessly rolling his neck. "I keep mixing that up. What does 'getting it on' mean, Dean? What is 'it'? And why does it need to 'get on'?"

Dean blinked, mouth suddenly dry. Cas turned his head to Dean, casually lying in Dean's arm, face all heated by the booze. "Uh—it's… don't you have some laptop to google it or something?"

"Unfortunately not", Cas said, adorably smiling at Dean. "But, I suppose, if you don't know what it means I could simply ask Balthazar about it when he comes ba—"

"Sex, it means having sex, okay", Dean stressfully blurted out. "Don't talk to your brother about any of this, d'you hear me?"

"Of course I'm hearing you", Cas giggled, poking Dean's chest with one finger, obviously drunk and _cuddly_. "You're sitting right next to me, Dean."

"Yeah, okay", Dean said, coughing slightly. Cas was smiling at his chest, drawing circles with his finger. "Just—don't ask him anything. Always ask me."

Cas glanced up at Dean, eyes big. "Of course, Dean."

Dean swallowed. "Good."

They sat like this for a few minutes, Cas silently playing with Dean's chest, and Dean pretending hard that this wasn't adorable, that drunk Cas wasn't the cutest and flirtiest thing that had ever happened, and that Dean hadn't purposely wrapped his arm around Cas, that it'd just sort of happened. Suddenly, Cas giggled again, giving Dean goosebumps.

"Sex", Cas said, and looked up at Dean, curiously. Dean imagined an electric shock to feel exactly like this. "I've thought about your explanation, and it's funny, because 'getting it on' actually means the exact opposite of 'getting on with it'. Language is truly comical sometimes, isn't it, Dean?"

Dean made an incoherent noise, shifting. "Yeah. Yeah, it's hilarious, really."

"Mhh", Cas grumbled, huddling to Dean's chest. "I'm glad we successfully disposed of this misunderstanding, Dean."

Dean didn't know what to tell Cas anymore. He couldn't help but think of the million times he'd jacked off to the sheer _thought_ of Cas ever since that one Friday night, and, basically holding Cas in his arms right now, he didn't really know what to do, but agreeing that all of this was just some silly misunderstanding—it felt deeply wrong. Because these shabby excuses were bullshit, and apparently everyone and their Mum knew that Cas had a major crush on Dean, and Cas was being hot as hell right now, and Dean's heart was beating way too fast, way too loudly, so much so that Cas _had_ to feel it to, so Dean—he was torn.

At Dean's sudden silence, Cas turned his head to look him in the eyes, like he always did, to find out what was going on in Dean's head right now. And this time Cas probably found a wild mixture of guilt, embarrassment and general fucked-up-ness in there. And oh, of course Dean's violently red cheeks had to be pretty noticeable, too.

Irritated, Cas cocked his head slightly, and Dean wished he was able to make at least _some_ sound. Like, get his shit together and simply say _me too_ or something. Hell, even an awkward coughing fit would've been better than nothing. But no, his tongue was striking.

Cas just kept staring at him, his flirty smile making way for an undefinable expression. His pupils were swaying between Dean's emerald green irises, analyzing.

 _Jesus Christ, don't analyze me._

Maybe it was simply due to the cottage's heated air, with the burning wood stove and all, but Dean felt weirdly exposed and burning hot under his warm sweater. It almost felt as if Cas' intense stare was getting directly under his skin, reading his mind. Perhaps he didn't even have to read it, 'cause Dean was being so fucking obvious.

Either way, Cas was driving Dean crazy.

Dean's look panned to Cas' neck, trying to avoid the look, but maybe also because he wanted to look exactly there. Maybe because he wanted to… touch it.

Before Dean knew what was happening, he felt Cas' hot, delicately soft skin just under his fingertips. And since his hand was already there, why pull it back now? He might as well just… leave it there. Get a little more of that sensation… caress him a little, maybe. Cas had done that too, hadn't he? Plenty of times. It was only justified that Dean wanted to give him something back. Cas' neck, the delicate fuzz, he explored it, first only with cautious fingertips, but soon using his palm and adding a little pressure. Fondling the man, he had no idea why, made Dean feel invincible and _good._

A silent gasp made Dean stop in his movements and meet those blue eyes. Nothing he saw in them made him want to back off, still he found himself paralyzed. Not necessarily scared. Just electrified. For a moment, the two of them were just sitting there, anticipatory, the only sounds in the room being their breaths and the spitting fire in the wood stove.

Cautiously, Dean continued with running his fingers through those dark brown tender curls, then all the way back down to his neck, all the while closely studying the tiny changes in Cas' facial expression. Cas had closed his eyes and was gasping, mouth slightly opened, and Dean spotted a twitch here and there, spots of rouge blushing his cheeks, and how Cas looked so taken by his touch and yet so guilty. Fascinating, just to watch him.

"Dean", Cas breathed. "Please…"

And Cas pressed Dean's knee, helplessly, much different from the grip back in the bar, but still, Dean couldn't help but wonder if maybe, back in the bar, Cas had enjoyed it just as much as Dean had. That he had not only done it on purpose, but because he had sensed a good enough excuse to touch Dean once again.

Now this grip wasn't soothing, but damn upsetting, because it was hot how Cas didn't know how else to help himself, how he had to hold on to _something_ , and it sent a weird _thrill_ to Dean's fingertips, and everywhere else, really.

If Cas was trying to stop him, however, then he was doing a really poor job, because his pleading tone and the firm grip on his knee weren't exactly discouraging. In fact, they drove Dean downright insane.

So much so that he ran his fingertips in the direction of that spot he'd been staring at the whole time, today, yesterday, and the many days before that. On Cas' chin, he felt that heavenly stubble, scratchy and tickling. Cas blinked at the new direction of Dean's fingers and frowned.

Dean flashed him a short glimpse. He didn't have much time, because there were those _lips_ right in front of him, but he noticed slight confusion in Cas' eyes, because this was all but friendly, and maybe Dean caught a glimpse of something else he himself didn't know too well… or maybe all too well.

 _Longing._

Cas' lips, under Dean's shivering thumb, felt rough and soft at the same time, tempting, untouched, just as Dean had imagined, and remembered them from that one short second he'd kissed them last week. Cas' eyelids fell shut again, giving in, signaling Dean to go on, and god, how much he wanted to. The sensitive skin under his thumb, the wetness on his fingertip, the throaty sighs of Cas and the tightening grip on his knee, Dean slowly ran his finger over the bottom lips' inside, felt teeth and pure hotness… so fucking _close_ …

Dean paused his movement, froze, when the older one's look caught his attention again. A mixture of anticipation and fear was staring back at him, reflecting his own feelings…

… and then the house key was turned in the lock.

Dean was faster on his legs than actually should've been possible within the scope of gravity.

"Jesus Christ, what a bummer. Those deer were all over the place, I could hardly dri—aw, _no,_ school boy's leaving us?" Balthazar asked, sadly, wearing his beloved black jacket, and pointed at the hectic figure storming across the room.

On the couch, Cas cleared his throat, tried to reply, but only a rasp made it out.

"Hey, hold your horses, school boy!"

Dean awkwardly tripped up on Balthazar's boots, cursing as he fell. With a chuckle, Balthazar caught him, pulling him in for a tight, unwished-for hug. Dean complained muffled against his chest.

"Aw, look, Cassy, he's chosen me over you after all. I'll miss you, too, my dear. But, you know, if you feel like spreading your love, you shouldn't give it to _my_ humble self. You have me confused with the teacher over there. You know, the one with his dirty trench coat who's in love with you."

With that— _that_ —Balthazar released Dean, wearing a deeply contended smile. For a moment Dean had no idea what to do with himself but gawk at Balthazar, and, unwittingly, at Cas, hiding on the red couch.

The last thing Dean saw before turning to rush up the hill— _far_ too close but where the hell was he supposed to run?—was his dumb, friggin' blameworthy present standing innocently on the table, as if it wasn't responsible for this whole goddamn mess all around him, in his freaked out head and everywhere else.


	11. Acceptable

**Chapter 11**

By the time the late November days came rolling in, the sun above St. Tipper had thankfully discarded its obnoxious early bird habits already, and usually left the people in darkness until forenoon, endowing everyone a nice dose of autumnal quiet and peace. Dean, however, who'd always been a late riser, and didn't really give a damn about longer and shorter days, decided to stir things up a little bit on a windless, chilly Sunday morning, because _he_ was all stirred up inside, and had been for weeks now, and the world just needed to know, if no one else cared.

Dean would start the forest's fauna from its night rest out of pure, senseless rage, that would be exactly what he'd be doing, and nobody could stop him.

The long interval of restless, nightmare-studded nights over the past weeks had finally managed to drag him down completely into an embittered devil-may-care state of mind. Precisely, Dean had been an insomniac for nearly ten weeks now, even more precisely, ever since the _thing_ between Cas and him had happened, the thing that had finally made it clear that 'getting on with it' was absolutely, undeniably impossible, for Dean, at least.

And that was why Dean, who had once rather fatefully found a true friend, had now turned into a hopeless, self-professed fuck-up, as he always managed to royally fuck everything up that he honestly cared about. Seemingly his whole life had turned into a deserted, miserable ruin. Pathetic, yes, he agreed to that, but that was just how he felt—shattered and wrecked. All the time now, he was on the run, desperate to fill the inner void that Cas had left. Food didn't work. Sex didn't do the trick, either.

He needed the _thrill_.

And as Dean was cautiously strolling about the narrow trails and undergrowth of St. Tipper Green Forest, which he knew like the back of his hand, his unlocked hunting rifle flicked over his shoulder, he felt kind of meaningful again, _powerful_ even, though his head was pounding like a bitch. Dean was outrageous. And it was better to take his anger out on St. Tipper's overpopulated forest, he figured, than on his little brother, although the smartass had become a true pain in the ass within the last weeks, but still.

The forest was pretending to sleep, but Dean knew better.

The air was sizzling with a mixture of danger and anticipation, and Dean was bloodthirsty. His last hunt had been felt ages ago. There was nothing like it. When Dean had been a boy, and John had taught him the ways of the hunting world, he'd learnt to completely rely on his senses, and now, as a pretty good hunter his vision was as sharp as a razor blade, trained and vigilant, the blueish moonlight all he needed to spot a target, absorb his muted surroundings and the tense atmosphere.

The bushes were brushing against his scrawny legs, various branches were scratching and poking his worn-out leather jacket, when Dean entered a silent, wide clearing, which was surrounded by giant firs and leafless deciduous trees. The thickset, frosted grassland was recklessly stretching at his cold feet.

"Hello there", Dean whispered, winningly.

A maroon, fully grown doe was gazing all by itself at the clearing's far end.

 _Still have it_ , Dean thought, hyped up. The adrenaline—his life's elixir—shot through his veins like lightning. It was a real beauty he'd found there. And, he thought while soundlessly aiming his gun, it would certainly die as one. That much Dean would take care of.

See… aim… _fire!_

A deafening shot filled the silence. A few birds answered with indignant screams, for the loud, alarming bang flushed flocks of birds out of the treetops.

"Sonofa _bitch!_ " Dean yelled, furiously.

The goddamn deer was fleeing through the thicket, unharmed, because Dean had shot a friggin' _tree_. Apparently, he couldn't even handle a tiny backfire anymore without steering the bullet right into the next fucking trunk. And the worst part was that _that_ wasn't even the truth. Because at the very last moment he'd aimed the muzzle just above the deer's back. Dean well knew that, but simply denied it.

He'd missed a fucking _still_ animal on an _open field_. He was the biggest pussy. Sammy could eat all the tofu he wanted, Dean would still win the pussy-of-the-year award. He didn't know why he was that devastated, since it'd been just an ordinary deer not a friggin' _moose_ or anything. Not like Dean was nearly as obsessed with them as his phantom dad. Dean had missed a target before, but right now it seemed like the biggest deal ever. The last thing he had thought he was still good at: Now ruined, too. So there was that.

Suddenly, Dean felt like crying. Not the normal, sad way of crying, but the desperate, self-hatred-soaked kind, the one he could knock his head against the next best tree to. Yeah, except that Dean didn't cry, ever. So instead, he aimed his weapon skywards, and fired a shot at it, then another one. It felt good, freeing, and sort of painful. He shot again.

"Dean, what the actual hell are you doing?"

Dean turned around, unaffectedly.

It was Sam.

His little brother was still wearing his pyjama trousers—well, it was like five in the morning so _Sam_ wasn't the odd one here—, along with a distraught facial expression and a hair style that could easily be described as bird-nest meets electric socket. He'd thrown on some grey hoodie and was wrapping his arms around himself, freezing, and the bridge of his nose pinched. Dean put his weapon back on his shoulder.

"Don't know", Dean replied, honestly. "I don't know what I'm doing, Sam."

"Well, it looks like you're completely nuts to me", Sam said with a worried tone. _Look who's talking_ , Dean thought. "You're shooting at the sky? It's not even six yet. Are you hunting birds or something? No, let me put it in other words, why the hell are you _hunting_?"

Dean merely shrugged. He'd been angry, still is. Still could hardly remember why else he was even here. His lip started trembling, and he quickly turned away. _Bitch needs to mind his own business_.

"Are you… crying?" Sam's voice softened and he stepped closer to Dean, briefly touching his shoulder. "What's with you lately, Dean?"

"I ain't crying, Sam!" Dean shouted, wiping Sam's hand off his shoulder like an annoying fly. An asshole, that's what he acted like, but he just couldn't stop being one right now, though he tried. "Sam, just." Dean breathed in deeply. "Don't ask. It's nothing. I don't wanna talk about it."

„Okay", Sam shortly said. „But I don't think killing innocent animals will solve any of your problems, Dean. Swallowing your anger won't do it, either, but, you know. Just saying."

"So, what do you suggest, smartass?" Dean snarled, glaring at Sam. "Stuffing myself with tons of vegetables and running around declaring the rights of animals like you do?"

"Dean, how many times do I have to tell you", Sam began, offended. "I'm _not_ trying to rebel against Dad. That's _not_ what I'm doing. Jesus, sometimes you're the most small-minded person ever. Anyway", Sam stopped himself from holding a speech. "Talk about it, man. It can't be that bad, and I won't judge you. Promise. You look like shit, by the way. And I'm not talking about your new haircut."

"Shut up, bitch", Dean grumbled, lamely, automatically running his hand through his short-cut hair.

It wasn't _that_ short anymore. Considering that just a few weeks ago, he'd been almost bald. Even though everyone seemed to like it—who cared what they said, anyway—Dean still felt a little self-conscious about it. Mostly because he'd chopped it all off himself, with a knife, in a moment of insanity after his crazy fringe had literally poked his fucking eye out, and he'd nearly lost his vision.

"The hell do you want me to do, Sammy", Dean began when Sam continued staring at him with a weird mixture of worry and ridicule. "Do you want me to pour my fucking heart out to you? Bawl like a baby and listen to your smart-alecky advice? Well, face it, it's not gonna happen. Wouldn't know where to start anyway."

Dean cringed as he heard himself say the last bit out loud. Goddammit, he definitely started sounding like a baby now.

Of _course_ Dean wanted to scream, scream his _lungs_ out at the whole world for giving him such a shitty, horrible father, who'd been nowhere to be seen for two months now (yes, two _months_ ), but he just didn't want to talk about it with Sam again, considering how great the last time went. And there was no way in the world Dean would tell anyone the whole _Cas_ business. There were a million other things that had bottled up, but _talking_ about them? Hell, motherfucking no.

"All right, then." Sam turned around, walking, then quietly added: "Guess I can't force you."

"Damn right you can't!"

He could practically feel Sammy's eye roll.

Both cold as fuck now, they slowly moved away from the clearing, crouching under a few branches every now and then, stumbling over roots that were dangerously sticking out of the ground, and the two of them made their way through the darkness, along the trail that led directly back to their home.

No, Dean wasn't proud of the tense atmosphere he'd created. Out of all people, Sammy was the last one he'd want to be stuck with in confined space like that, surrounded by angry silence and thick air; because as everyone knew, Sammy could be a real bitch about almost anything.

In a poor attempt to quickly smooth things out again, Dean caught up with his little brother to playfully mess up his already tousled hair, receiving a grouchy "Stop it" from Sam for his action. The tiny smile that appeared on Sammy's face shortly afterwards was pretty satisfying, though.

* * *

The following morning, it was time to step up for another shit day at school.

Gently, the birdsong was floating through the fresh air, announcing the beginning of another unwritten chapter, another opportunity to rewrite people's fate and let them reach a little closer for their unfulfilled dreams and undying hopes. Yeah, didn't that just sound like complete, utter bullshit. Unconcernedly, the sun above St. Tipper was at the ready to take up the moon's station, stoked for another match against the crippled ozonosphere, glaciers in the Antarctic and—that one took the least effort—Dean's fragile nerves.

 _Wow, what a remarkable Monday morning_ , Dean thought, lighting up his cigarette, _totally didn't live through that crap a thousand times before_.

Dean walked around the corner at the end of his street and entered St. Tipper main road, facing the same grey asphalt, buildings and trash bins as usual. It was still dark and gloomy outside, a few cars were passing the smoking guy in his brown leather jacket and dirty jeans, as he was slowly approaching the bus stop, where he always met Lisa before school.

She looked good, unsurprisingly. Her hair was shiny and long, her red jacket was sitting really well on her, her black pants were tight in all the right places and yada yada yada. Overall, Dean could seriously count himself lucky to have her. It was only that she looked really good _every single day_ , so it was hardly exciting anymore. And Lisa was always so sweet to him, which was, of course, nice, but—when you felt like a piece of shit, all the time, being treated like the greatest hero on earth didn't feel any good at all.

As hard as Dean tried to suppress these thoughts, he just couldn't help it sometimes. None of it was Lisa's fault, anyway. Dean and her were slowly drifting apart, it seemed, and no one but Dean was to blame for it. She just didn't know him anymore, didn't know anything, hell, she didn't even know he _thought_ these kind of things.

"Hey, hon", she greeted, smilingly. "How are you?"

"Smashing", Dean said, approaching her.

 _Here we go again_ , he thought, absently, while spitting on the sidewalk to get rid of the tobacco leaves in his mouth. Damn rollies. He gave her a quick peck on the lips, and they felt soft, warm, sugary and all that, but also they felt like nothing. There had been a time when Dean had called their relationship magical. Yeah, only a stupid idiot like him would say something like that.

They got under way. Lisa told some story about one of her girlfriends being _preggo_ or something, and Dean said "Must be really hard for her", just to keep her talking. Lisa was walking to his right, and Dean kept his cig in his right hand. She didn't even notice they weren't doing their holding-hands-on-the-way-to-class thing and Dean didn't care, either.

His attention was suddenly revived, when a brown Chevy Pickup shot past them.

Cas' car was speeding down the road, and it was gone as ridiculously fast as it had appeared. Beyond stupid—he'd give you that—but Dean's heart was hammering wildly in his chest at the sheer sight of it.

"Someone's in a hurry", Lisa giggled. "Wasn't that Mr. Novak's car?"

"Mhm", Dean grumbled. "Looks like it."

"See, that's exactly what I like about him." Her eyes lit up, cheerfully. "None of our teachers would _ever_ be late for class. But Mr. Novak, he's so down to earth. He's funny, kind of shy and a little bit out of it sometimes. He's like _us_ , you know? Who knows, but maybe I'll become a teacher in the end, too. Then I'd definitely try to be just like him!" She declared, turning to Dean. "Don't you think?"

Dean didn't reply straight away, 'cause his heart had heavily dropped at her zealous words. Cas would _so_ love to hear something like that. And Dean wasn't able to tell him, because he was an immature, pathetic idiot, couldn't deal with himself, and because they weren't really talking anymore. He sighed, downcast.

"Yeah, sure", Dean approved, shortly. "He's pretty awesome."

She shot him an unsteady glance when he left it at that, and they leaped into uncomfortable silence.

"Haven't you been friends or something?" She eventually asked, hesitating.

Dean flipped the butt of his cigarette on the street, and immediately pulled his rollie can out of his jean's front pocket. Did he want to answer her? Well, a forceful no to that, but she was Lisa after all, and he wouldn't give her the silent treatment, too.

"Kind of, yeah", Dean rasped, lighting up another cigarette. "But not anymore. Anyway, you got some more gossip for me or what, Lis?"

She didn't even hear the last part.

"Huh", she made, thoughtfully. "Do you want to tell me what happened?"

"Drifted apart", Dean quickly said. "That happens."

"Sure, it does", Lisa said. Dean felt her doubtful stare on him. "I just think it's… sad, Dean. I mean, you really liked him. And he cared so much about you and your grades. It's not often you find someone like that."

"Yeah." Dean smiled, painfully. "I know."

Lisa nodded, gently squeezing Dean's arm, walking.

Obviously Lisa was getting that the topic was making Dean uncomfortable as hell. He could easily tell, because normally she went on and on like a waterfall. But, unfortunately, it seemed too interesting for her to just let it go like that, and Dean cursed the heavens for it. Because she then gave a weird fake laughter, awkwardly nudging Dean's shoulder with her fist.

"Sounds like I was right after all", she said, sounding amused and tense at the same time. "He really _was_ just a summer affair. Ironical, isn't it?"

 _Shut up_ , Dean couldn't help but think. Her stupid jokes and curiousness were seriously pissing him off now. Also, the fact that she was kind of right— _of course_ she was—, but he'd be damned before admitting that. Hell, she was just trying to be funny and lighten up the mood. She couldn't know that her words hurt like a stitch into an open wound.

So, Dean managed a half-hearted grunt.

Fortunately, they'd reached school by now.

Or unfortunately, depending on how one looked at it, because _feeling_ the tense Cas situation was even worse than unwillingly _talking_ about it.

* * *

"Hello, students."

Dean, who'd been dozing on his seat in the first row with a throbbing headache, trying hard to fade out everyone's painfully loud and annoyingly _motivated_ voices, looked up lazily.

A stressed-out, panting Mr.-Novak-styled Cas came rushing into the classroom, his overstuffed, scratchy, black brief case in one hand, and a large pile of papers in the other. Today, Dean stealthily noticed, Cas was looking extraordinarily good. Oddly clean and showered. Disregarding the reversed, loose blue tie, the eye-catching coffee stain on his chest and the few missed buttons of his white shirt. Remember when Dean had been startled by the huge difference between _Mr. Novak_ and _Cas_? Good times.

It would be pretty harsh to say that Cas had been looking like _shit_ the last weeks. But the once pretty definite line between free-time and teacher Cas had become blurrier and blurrier, had slowly vanished away like, well, dust in the wind or something. Let's just say, now Cas was looking fairly older than a few weeks ago. To be fair, though, Cas actually kind of rocked the below-the-bridge look. At least as long as he left that one hairy, woolen sweater out of it. Dean wasn't the kind of guy who remembered people's clothes, really wasn't, but _that_ one…

Anyway. The sleek, shaved, neatly dressed and organized math teach from the beginning of the school year slowly but surely became a fleeting memory. Cas' once rather subtle stubble, for example, had escalated into a thick, scruffy _beard_ by now. He had stuck to the black pants and white shirt look, though, even if he seemingly didn't bother to change them every day anymore—or even once a week.

Last Friday, hopefully, the climax had been reached, when Cas had accidentally worn his dirty garden shoes for class, spreading pieces of garden soil and mud in the whole classroom as he'd walked around between the desks. When Gabe had been done having a hysterical giggle over it, he'd eventually pointed it out to Cas, and Cas had been kind of quiet and shameful for the rest of the lesson. That had been the infamous _garden shoe incident_.

So today, _Mr. Novak_ had obviously made an effort (to maybe erase it from people's minds), and, well, it wasn't weird to notice that, right? 'Cause he was just looking _really_ nice today. His face was all heated and rosy from running or something. His hair was effortlessly great, as always, wild and curly. The beard was sitting him very well, and today it matched his look perfectly. Yes, all in all, really nice.

Dean winced when a loud _thump_ brutally tore him out of his daydreaming.

Diagonally across from him, Cas flung his brief case on the teacher's desk, causing a few loose sheets and chocolate bar wrappings to glide on the floor unnoticed. Dean was still fascinatedly staring at the impressive, hopeless mess that was going on with Cas'—probably important—documents, even noticing a crinkly _test paper_ , when Cas cleared his throat and stepped in front of the class, the stack of paper he'd been carrying pressed to his body.

Everyone quickly sobered down, Gabe stopped talking to the girls sitting behind them and turned around. Within a few seconds, it was deadly quiet in the classroom.

Cas ran his fingers through his jumbled bed-hair and began with an awkward "So, uh", vaguely pointing at the text written on the front page of his pile, as if anyone could read it from the distance.

"I just copied these. That's why I'm late. Class, uh, this is your task for today, it's an interesting topic. I'm pretty sure you'll enjoy it. I've prepared these work sheets here for you, and—"

Soundlessly, a couple of sheets sailed out of his hand and to the ground. Cas groaned, annoyed, and quickly bent down to recollect them, and—another one of his well-known, accidental slapsticks—lost the grip to another few papers while doing so.

Dean noticed a few students sharing amused looks. As if Cas' clumsiness was their inside joke or something. Yes, it was irrational and probably the most stupid thing Dean had ever thought, but sometimes Dean kind of wished that Cas would get his act together again, like he'd managed the first weeks of September, for the sole reason that this was _Dean's_ Cas. Dean used to be the only one who knew this side of him. The others didn't _deserve_ to see it, it was none of their _business_ and—yeah, see, it was just really irrational and stupid.

"So, uh", Cas started over when he was done collecting. "As I was saying, we'll start with this new topic today and I thought, uh, it'd be fun for you to work it out on your own. Hence, the papers. So, beforehand, I'll read out the instructions to you."

He coughed slightly.

"Number one. Primarily, summarize the terms. Then, factor out the highest possible number. Then, uh", he hesitated, narrowing his eyes. "Oh, sorry students, that was number two. Never mind. That was the better one, anyway—hah."

No one reacted to Cas'—admittedly kind of lame—joke, as usual. Except for Dean, who smiled, but it wasn't like anyone saw that.

Cas went on.

"Number one. Calculate the angle." He paused. "Ah, yes, that one's actually quite tricky. See, there's this board." He pointed at a tiny picture of a black square thing. "And there's only _one_ length and _this_ beta angle given. But it's still very simple, I'm positive that you'll manage. Just, uh, apply your former knowledge and you'll easily detect the angle of the board", Cas sighed. "Number three. Another adaption into everyday occurrences. So, at a construction area, an iron bar is inserted into a slut..."

He paused, frowning. "Slot, I mean. I uh, must have typed that wrong, I guess."

Naturally, Cas' awkward reading was interrupted abruptly when Gabe burst into hysterical laughter next to Dean. Soon enough, a handful of other similarly childish students joined him, and nearly everyone else grinned or smiled, embarrassed. Dean just buried his head in his arms, waiting. Well, it was a little bit funny all right, but he was feeling kind of sorry for Cas, who grew stiff and wore a deep frown.

"Class, please", Cas advised them, completely out of concept. "Be—be quiet. Well. Uhm. Let's just skip this part then. Please pick your papers up on my… on my table."

With that, the reading was over. With a sigh, Cas sat down behind the teacher's desk, obviously confused, and pulled some science magazine out of a drawer.

During Cas' performance, Dean had tried _really_ hard not to stare at him, especially not into his eyes. But, yeah, that never worked out too well. Luckily, Cas had been too nervous to notice Dean's stare, though.

But now, as Dean still couldn't get his damn eyes off of him, Cas finally looked up—straight into Dean's eyes.

It wasn't like Dean had _aimed_ for that to happen or anything, except that of course he had. And like every day, it was totally worth it. As blue and gorgeous as ever, they were, absorbing, and inappropriately exciting. Dean lasted about five seconds, then broke the connection, his heartbeat completely out of control, racing, pounding hard and loudly in his chest. He enjoyed the feeling, a lot. It gave him the _thrill_.

So, this was their thing nowadays.

Math class had become the highlight of Dean's empty days.

To quote Lisa: Ironical, wasn't it?

* * *

"What _is_ this shit? Dude, look, number six is _killing_."

Gabe shook his head, laughingly, at the work sheet lying on their desk. There were exactly fifteen minutes left of the lesson, and all Gabe had done so far, besides chattering on and on to Dean about how _hot_ Lisa was looking today, was to point at the instructions on the paper and laugh his ass off about them, loudly, and every time Dean had tried to grab it, Gabe had just yanked the paper out of his hand. It was the most annoying thing ever, so Dean had eventually given up. Also, Gabe had been drawing way too much attention— _Cas'_ attention precisely— and asides from their little eye thingy, that was something Dean avoided like the plague these days.

"Binominal coefficients in Pascal's triangle", Gabe read aloud and snorted. "Like? I don't even know what any of these words mean. And who the hell is _Pascal_?"

"Jeez, man, who cares", Dean mumbled, resting his head on his elbow.

All around them, their classmates were busily discussing the math problems, low-voiced, and some of them were already finished. Cas, after going for the one or other spin through the classroom, was just placing himself back behind the teacher's desk, looking rather pensive, but that was just his casual look—hopefully.

"Just write _something_ down", Dean grumpily advised Gabe. "Nobody cares, Gabe. Besides, it stopped being funny at least twenty minutes ago."

Surprised, Gabe raised one brow, mustering Dean.

"Oh, I'm sorry, princess", he said with a fake worried tone, squeezing Dean's arm. "Didn't know you were on your period. Poor thing. Can I get you anything, Dean-o?"

Dean just scoffed at him, turning his head away. Gabe rolled his eyes, finally shutting his mouth to take a serious look at the work sheet.

It took him a few seconds to realize: "This is totally above our heads, man."

Dean lazily looked back at Gabe. "So?"

„So", Gabe began. „I'll just ask the one who's responsible for this crap. Mr Novak!"

Dean jumped, abruptly waking up from his half-nap.

„ _Stop it_ ", he hissed, whispering. „What are you _doing_ , man?"

„Uh, well", Gabe laughed, giving Dean the look that was preserved only for _seriously_ dumb questions. „What's it look like, huh? Calm your tits, dude. Mr. Novak!"

Cas automatically got up from his chair and scanned the room for the student calling for him. When he saw that it was _Gabe_ , he kind of winced, there was slight hesitation in his look but it was only a glimpse, so possibly Dean was wrong. Anyhow, Dean was hating Gabe with every cell of his body right now. And himself, too, because he was unable to stop his pulse rate from shooting out of the roof and—of course—because he secretly loved the feeling of horror and excitement mixed together. Dean's stare was fixed on the table's surface. He was nervously fiddling with his pencil, when Cas leaned over the table from behind to talk to Gabe.

"Hello… Gabriel. Dean."

As usual when Cas was checking on them during class, Dean wished he could just act _normal_ for Christ's sake. But an awkward smile to the table was all Dean could manage.

Gabe started explaining their gigantic problem with the tasks, gesturing wildly, and Dean could feel that Cas' look was resting not on Gabe, but on him, curiously, shyly, friggin' intense. Dean's palms got sweaty, and he had no idea what to do with himself while Cas was standing right behind him, watching him, so he just sat there, tensely.

Halfway through Gabe's dramatic speech, Cas put his hand on the back of Dean's chair. A second later, Dean felt a cautious fingertip on his lower back, brushing over the thin fabric of his t-shirt. Dean held his breath. Rhythmically, again and again, Cas started caressing Dean, and Gabe's jabbering became static noise in the background.

This was… new.

Cas had never… done that before.

Every time Cas eventually left their table, Dean wished he'd stayed a little longer, but this time, Dean wished he wouldn't leave at all, ever. He wished Gabe would simply go on and ask all the questions there were to ask, even though it hurt.

It hurt, because Dean would bet anything that Cas didn't even know what was going on between them, only that _something_ had gone wrong. It was killing Dean just to think about it, and the way Cas was touching him now, silently reaching out for him, felt like a knife between Dean's ribs. Still, he never wanted it to end.

Dean's breath hitched, when Cas placed his whole palm on his lower back, leaning forward to explain the work sheet to Gabe. Now, Dean could see Cas' face out of the corner of his eye, see his hand busily scribbling on the paper, and the close sound of his voice made the skin of Dean's neck crawl. Safely, behind the back of the chair, Cas continued caressing Dean, now with his thumb, the warmth of Cas' palm jetting through the fabric of Dean's t-shirt.

Five minutes, and the magic was over. Gabe's voice fought its way through to Dean's conscious—"so that's what an epiphany feels like"—and while leaving their table, Cas took the last chance to touch Dean and squeezed his shoulder, and Dean laboriously stared at the table surface. Dean peeped at Cas' back, felt pathetic, looked away, and it was all over when math class ended and the school bell rang.

Except that it wasn't.

Because Dean, who'd barely been present all day, had somehow managed to fall asleep during the last minutes of class and—surprise, surprise—neither Gabe nor anyone else had bothered to wake him up. So the school bell had done the job instead, and the noisy, high-pitched _ding dong_ did it just fine.

Dean blinked into the bitingly light class room, fully disorientated, and found himself all alone. Hilarious. They'd probably taken thousands of photos or something, or drew shit on his face. Friggin' terrific.

"Hello, Dean."

Jesus _Christ_. Dean swirled around on his chair, nearly knocking it over, and found Cas standing at the tiny sink at the back of the classroom. He was fully concentrating on rubbing the coffee stain off his shirt with an old, wet cloth. It took Dean a few moments to catch his breath.

"H—hey, Cas."

"Coffee", Cas said, gravely, focused on his shirt. "It's a good drink, but… it's impossible to remove. It just won't… work."

„Well, uh", Dean awkwardly spoke into the silent classroom. "Have you tried, you know, soap? 'Cause it'd work better, I guess. Soap is… cleaner… and, uh", Dean paused, actually listening to his own words, "yeah. That's all, I guess."

"Oh, yes, actually", Cas went on, conversationally. "I've tried doing that while you were asleep. Unfortunately, it doesn't help, either."

Dean tried hard to fight off the mental image of Cas watching him sleeping.

"Uh, Okay? That's…" Well, what? Interesting? Insightful? "That sucks, man", Dean finished, lamely, not knowing what else to say about soap.

Dean couldn't believe they were actually talking—yes, about the most random shit, and Dean felt like he was about to pass out, but holy shit they were _talking_. Dean was absolutely stunned.

But his flight instinct was a little bit stronger than that. So, Dean tore his eyes away from Cas and, with an awkward cough, he got up from his chair, quickly collected his school stuff, and hesitatingly headed for the door, his eyes still flickering to Cas, uncontrollably.

When Cas' look finally met him, Dean froze.

"I'll come with you", Cas decided, letting go of the cloth.

Quickly, Cas made his way across the classroom, and stopped in front of Dean. More like: onto Dean. Way, _way_ , too close. Dean didn't know where to look. The dark, shiny and crazily tousled curls. So very contrastive to those light blue, narrowed eyes. Dean swallowed hard. The odd, yet weirdly attractive grizzly-bear beard. Slightly touching, framing, those damned pink, dry lips. Then back to the eyes. No idea how, but Dean escaped them.

"C—Cas", Dean croaked out. "What are you—"

"I miss you, Dean."

Dean blinked, staring at the wet coffee stain. "You—"

"I miss you all of the time, Dean. And I'm sorry if this overwhelming emotion sometimes makes me do inconsiderate things to you, like today, I was touching you, inappropriately, and I'm sorry if this made you uncomfortable, which I am sure it did. I just want you to know that—Dean, I don't know anything anymore, to be quite honest. But just know that I will try my best not to let something like today happen again."

Dean had no idea what to say, mind emptied. Cas looked at Dean, sort of desperate, and for a long moment Dean couldn't breathe, until his eyes fell on Cas' neck, and the blue tie dangling there.

„Your—tie, Cas", Dean said, choked. "It's backwards, you know."

In response, Cas just frowned and tilted his head, irritating Dean even more.

Dean reached out his hand, waving Cas over. "Can't let you walk around like that, can I. C'mere, let me fix it."

Cas took another step closer, now basically standing on top of Dean's feet. Not knowing what else to say or do, Dean quickly fixed the tie with a few handy movements. When he was done, he was not only as red as a tomato, but also stiffly tapped Cas' shoulder, concluding the intimate scene.

"Look at you, all suited up and back in the game. Now, you're good to go."

Dean swirled around, hurrying towards the door, and was stopped by Cas' anxious voice.

"Dean. Dean, wait."

Dean didn't around, just looked at the ceiling. "What."

"When I touched you today, _was_ it wrong? Or was it... _acceptable?"_

Dean inhaled, sharply, closing his eyes. He gave himself approximately one second, before he shortly replied, voice hoarse.

"Acceptable. You might wanna keep that up."

And with that, he simply left Cas standing there, once again.


	12. Unacceptable

**Chapter 12**

"Bobby, seriously", Dean said, grumpily. "You can't cheer me up today. You're wasting your breath, buddy. Understand? _Es imposible_ , or whatever."

"Spanish, eh? Not bad, _mi hijo_." Bobby simply placed his sombrero on Dean's head, flipping his finger against it. "Now you're authentic."

Dean was relieved to hear Bobby's footsteps clear away from him.

These days, Bobby was Dean's favorite companion, by far. That was why he'd developed the habit of hanging out with him every day, when Crowley was gone, and school was done. Because usually, that was when Dean was done, too. Generally, with the world and stuff. And Bobby understood. Or, possibly, he just didn't give that much of a damn. But that was fine, too, exemplary even, as long as the outcome was the same—no stupid questions.

Face covered with Bobby's huge sombrero, Dean lay on some old car tire in a corner of the heating room. Now, as Bobby was loudly carrying some wires around, all focused on finishing today's work shift again, Dean took the time to just close his eyes for a moment.

He breathed in, deeply. It was always so warm down here, snugly. Even though Dean was unwilling to laugh at any of Bobby's jokes today, that didn't mean he wasn't still enjoying the old man's presence and calming working sounds. Sometimes he even fell asleep in the tire, as a messed up, exhausted bundle. Well, okay, maybe the fact that they were occasionally smoking pot down here also had something to do with that. But, whatever—sleep was sleep, and Dean needed it really badly. As he'd presented pretty accurately in math class earlier... ugh, _why._

Dean pressed his eyes shut and shifted into a more comfortable position. Tires were more comfortable than you'd first think. The intense gum smell was also kind of addling his mind, which was rather welcomed. And in a few hours, Bobby would wake him up, allow Dean to lock the cellar door for him, and they'd stroll about the schoolyard together—

"Ay, son!" Bobby suddenly yelled, frightening Dean witless. "I know _exactly_ what you need!"

"Bobby, no—"

… _La cucaracha, la cucaracha, ya no puede caminar_ …

… _Porque no tiene, porque la falta, marihuana que fumar_ …

La Cuca-"oh god, not again"-racha.

Deafeningly loud.

Everything was changing, with a drastic speed that Dean couldn't quite catch sometimes, but there was one constant that always stayed the same: That goddamn song.

Well, Dean guessed, he just had to accept it as an undeniable part of the crammed Mexican universe in St. Tipper High's basement, where there was no such thing as time.

And as long as he didn't feed Dean his _torta loca famoso_ before class, Bobby was actually the coolest, most badass old man there was. And the Mexican would probably die before he'd try pulling _that_ off again. Dean had taken care of that. He'd kicked Bobby's ass _so_ hard the Monday after his birthday, he wouldn't be surprised if it still hurt.

Finally, Dean was left in peace. Well, if you considered hammering, wall-shaking basses and being forced to listen to the same Spanish song about cockroaches or something a thousand times in a row peaceful, that was. Most days, Dean genuinely did. At least he was unable to hear his own thoughts that way. That, precisely, was the _definition_ of peace.

" _Una cosa me da risa_ ", Bobby screeched.

Miraculously, his voice was cutting through the unbelievable noise. It certainly couldn't be considered _singing_ anymore. He was literally _screaming_. Dean, who's face was shut off from the light by Bobby's sombrero, shamelessly laughed at him. It was like Dean was lying right in front of some huge bass box in the middle of a friggin' rock concert.

" _Ya se van los carrancitas_ ", Bobby roared on, " _porque vienen los villastas!_ "

The refrain started over, and Dean died laughing.

Suddenly, a rather unfitting tune was chiming in. At first Dean lazily thought it was part of the song, because he barely noticed those wrong-sounding notes—they couldn't compete at all, volume-wise—but then again, he'd listened to _La Cucaracha_ about a million times and it didn't just change overnight.

Dean frowned, his eyeballs wandering around, confusedly.

His _cell phone_.

"Fuck", Dean breathed out.

Quickly, he left the noisy room, unnoticed. In front of the heavy cellar door, Dean came to a halt and leaned against the cold cement wall. He fixed the sombrero's position on his head and picked up.

"Yeah?" He yelled into his cellphone. The music was still all around him.

„Dean?" A quiet voice asked.

"Yes, Dean speaking", he repeated, loudly. "Who's asking?"

"It's me", the voice answered, hesitatingly. „Sam."

Immediately, Dean was alarmed. Sam _never_ called him. Ever. And the hell was going on with his voice? God, he could've missed ten of his calls already because of that insane noise in there.

„What's wrong, Sammy?" Dean yelled, heart beating fast.

„Dean, can you come home? Now? It's... Dad."

A wave of anger rushed through Dean's body. "Did he call or somethin'?" He snapped, expecting to hear some senseless message, or the text of another ridiculous postcard.

"No..." Sam paused, and Dean heard his brother take a wobbly breath.

„He's back."

* * *

Dean hadn't seen his Dad in two friggin' months.

The dry, colorful leaves were loudly crushing under Dean's frantic feet, and his eyes nervously wandered around the dawning sky.

He spotted a bat doing stunts in the cold evening air.

 _My blood's bad anyway_ , Dean thought as his look was stuck to that little black vampire creature for no longer than two winks.

In the lull before the storm, there had been countless sensations Dean could have remembered clearly for the rest of his life, such as the unfamiliar feeling he'd felt at the sound of his father's angry, muffled voice from inside the cottage, and the sight of the dirty jeep parking in their driveway, quite natural, as if it had never been gone. Some kind of _reluctance_ , he'd felt while following the beaten track. To go in there, to look out for Sammy, to settle the differences between the fighting parties. Or that weirdly attractive possibility to simply stay out of it, turn around, leave, forever.

All of that at once, on the short way up the small hill. But no, that'd be too logical to memorize. Of course it would be the random bat that would forever mark that moment in his mind. That last special one, before his life would be torn to shreds once and for all. Life's humor was absurd and cruel.

And right then, as Dean took one final breath before slamming the door open, the joke was on him.

"Your brother lost his mind."

In the middle of the dark room, his father John and Sam were standing dangerously close to each other, radiating a tense, oppressive atmosphere. Struck by a strong sense of déjà-vu, Dean faltered, soaking it all in.

John—if he wasn't an illusion—was wearing a stained, loose plaid shirt out of a bleached, oversized blue jeans, his eyes, that were now looking at Dean, expectantly, were dead-serious, his cheekbones sharply protruded. He'd lost weight. Other than that, his appearance hadn't really changed. He was just kind of meager and more tanned. Still, he seemed like a stranger.

Sam was facing Dean too, relieved, but his eyes were also filled with blind fury. With a painful twitch, Dean's headache reported back to him.

"Yeah, hello, Dad", Dean replied with dry sarcasm. "Oh, I'm fine. Grades are rocking, too, thanks for asking."

John just stared at Dean, sinister.

Dean stared at his feet. "I don't know about you two, but I could really use some food right now."

Admittedly, a poor attempt at reconciling.

Actually, a _horrible_ attempt, Dean realized as soon as the words really sunk in.

In fact, he'd just given Sammy, who was already disappearing into the kitchen, the clue to fuel the fight even more.

* * *

Twenty long minutes later, Sam served dinner.

Cautiously, Sam placed a big, heavy pot on their tiny dining table, and Dean was vigorously praying to every single deity he could come up with. He flashed John, who was sitting on the stool next to him, a nervous look. By his standards, he was looking pretty relaxed, Dean observed. He wondered how fast that could change.

Sammy lifted the pot's lid. A cloud of steam escaped, and Dean peeped over the seam. Thank _God_ , it was just brown rice. A bit risky, all right, but still within reason.

"Rice, huh?" Dean turned to John, forcing a smile. "Yum."

John didn't react, simply kept on staring into space, emotionless. Dean's smile died.

Then, Sammy came back from the kitchen, carrying a huge black pan—"it's a _wok,_ Dean _"_ —and placed it on the table, next to the pot, going painfully _slow_. The tension was about to kill Dean, so he started manically tapping the table's surface with his forefinger, again and again, perhaps the melody of _Eye of the Tiger_ , anything to calm him down. When John glared at him, he abruptly stopped.

Finally, Sammy lifted the pan's lid, releasing another steam cloud, and Dean didn't dare to look, because he had such a horribly bad omen. _Please_ , he begged, _don't let it be tofu_. Not in the first minutes of John's return. Anything else would be acceptable, but not _tofu_ , hell no, oh Jesus, don't let it be—

It was scrambled tofu.

 _Fuck my life_ , Dean thought. _Why, Sammy, just why_.

"Sam", John began, frowning at the pan's square-shaped, whitish content. "What kind of meat is this? It must have gone bad. You should throw it away."

Sam hesitated, surprisingly, but only for a split second.

"It's not meat", he casually stated while sitting down at the table.

Desperately, Dean clutched at any straw as he saw John's frown deepen. Dean coughed slightly, trying to catch Sam's attention to show him his unmistakable, wide-eyed _dude-seriously_ -look. Dean even shook his head, unflashy but on point. Of course Sam didn't see any of it, presumably on purpose.

"What does that mean?" John asked, focused on Sam, who firmly returned his stare.

"It means", Sam replied, "that it's tofu."

Dean winced, pressing his eyes shut.

The following moments of silence dragged themselves endlessly. It was kind of like that silent moment before a wave crashed. The only sounds in the room were the snick of Sam's cutlery, his defiant chewing and—Dean noticed with horror—the rising volume of John's breathing. Jesus Christ, he was friggin' _gasping_. Through narrow slits, Dean cast a quick glance at him. John's lips were nothing but a white, thin line, his whole head red with anger. It was the same look he always got after missing a target. Only then, he usually became really _verbal._ And really _physical_ —

"That's _it_!" John suddenly shouted, making the brothers jump in fright.

With one strong movement, and a shattering primal scream, John grabbed the table surface with both of his hands and knocked it flying. Not kidding. He literally flipped the table over.

Scared shitless, Dean instinctively shrunk from the scene, forgetting that he was still kind of sitting on a chair. So at full tilt, Dean landed backwards on the wooden floor, his back dashing heavily against the backrest with a disgusting _crack_. Dean's vision turned black. Groaning, he rolled from one side to the other, like you'd do after a solid kick right in the nuts. Vaguely, he felt his hand burning on some hot rice spread on the floor, when suddenly Sam's feet were storming past his head, making him feel a cold breath of wind on his distorted face. Alarmed, Dean automatically forced himself to bob up, his back a sole pulsating pang.

"Tell me you're joking, Sam!" John shouted. "Tell me you're _joking_!"

"I'm _not_!" Sam cut in, harshly, screaming himself. "Deal with it! I'm done with hunting! Eating meat is _wrong_!"

"And here we go", Dean groaned, holding his throbbing head.

It seemed like they were now continuing their fight from earlier, seamlessly, and there wasn't much Dean could do about it. Sure, this moment had been bound to come, but that didn't make it any better. Still, he was floored by the situation, shocked. Uselessly, he placed himself in safe distance to John, feeling like decoration, an extra, like this was happening to somebody else and not to him.

With pent-up anger, Sammy roared on, exploding like a bomb.

"It's what I believe in and there's _nothing_ you can do about it! In fact", Sam paused and lowered his voice to a provocative tone. "Neither me nor Dean have been hunting while you were gone."

"Well, I kinda—"

"You haven't, Dean!" Sam yelled, aggressively, and Dean, the useless extra, nearly swallowed his own tongue. Rigidly, he saw his brother take a defiant step to face his father, going on. "I won't let you control me anymore, Dad. This is my own decision and my damn confidence!"

" _Shut your mouth_." John dictated, coldly.

Sam, however, couldn't be scowled into silence.

"No, _you_ shut your mouth. Go on, abandon me. I don't care."

"C'mon, Sammy", Dean piped up between the two. "That's enough. You've made yourself pretty clear here, don't you thi—"

"You're a shame for our family, Sam", John stated, furious.

" _Family_? Yeah, good one", Sam snorted, voice dripping with burning contempt. " _You're_ a shame! Ever since Mom died you're a fucking… We're better off without you, anyway!"

"Right, Sammy", Dean tried again, attempting to put on a soothing tone. "Why don't we discuss this later, 'kay?"

"No! Don't touch me! I'm _done_ with him!"

"Enough", John harshly interrupted the brothers. "I've had enough with you two. The last months, I've been on the road, I was content with my life, and now _this_! Get in the car, both of you! We're leaving, now, and I'll teach you what hunting really means!"

Sam was beside himself. " _Go to hell!_ "

He stomped past John, long hair strands covering the biggest part of his heated face. He didn't even bother slamming the door on his way out. Mentally, Dean was already chasing after him. It was only the frighteningly unaffected, cold sound coming out of his father's mouth that kept him from doing it. His own name had never sounded so terrifying.

"Dean?" John stared at him, firmly.

At first, Dean didn't know what John was saying. What about him? He'd just tried to calm both of them down. John wouldn't punish him for that, right? _Right_? Then, it clicked. He couldn't be serious. He couldn't be asking that of Dean. No friggin' _way_. But his eyes were telling another story: He absolutely could. Obviously, John was leaving Dean a choice, but his eyes didn't. Fuck Dean, this couldn't be happening.

"Dad." Dean swallowed, feeling smaller than that tiny bat he'd seen. Maybe he should have, but when it came to this, at least that one thing, Dean wasn't at odds with himself. "I'm not leaving _Sammy_."

His father's face grew rock-hard. Eventually, John nodded, shortly, his look already out of the door.

"Fine. I might have known it."

As he saw his Dad turn around on the doorstep, Dean's ears were ringing. The sunset in his back, his father was only a dim scheme.

"I'm sorry, Dean", he said. "I'm a hunter, and I thought you were, too. Let's just bring this off now." He paused to pull the car keys out of his pocket. "Sam's your responsibility now." While turning around, he added: "I'm out."

"Dad? You can't be serious!" Dean finally shouted, running after his father. "He's _fourteen!_ He doesn't know better!"

Horrified, Dean slammed his hands on the car window. John didn't react, didn't even look at him.

"He didn't mean to… fuck! Come on, you know he doesn't actually… _Dad!_ "

With a horrific, surreal roar, the engine started and the car tires nearly crushed Dean's feet. Tumbling backwards, Dean helplessly watched the jeep roll onto Fleeing Deer Street, and with a strange tunnel vision, Dean saw John chase off. Slowly, Dean began walking down the hill, hypnotized. He stumbled several times, but didn't fall.

This was a fucking nightmare. It _had_ to be. That was the only logical explanation. Dean was still sleeping and this was one of his bad dreams. Yeah, just a vivid dream. One that featured racing hearts, shaking hands and tears, but still. If felt real, so _fucking_ real, but it couldn't actually be, right? It _had_ to be a sick, perverted illusion, his mind playing tricks on him, brain finally going nuts.

Trouble was that bumping into somebody, at full power, would've definitely woken Dean up in the end.

But instead of starting from his sleep in his bed, soaked with sweat, distraught, crying, he found himself staring at Cas, soiled, warm, and wearing his yellow garden gloves.

* * *

"He's not picking up."

Dean groaned, burying his head in his hands.

Crouching on the red, baggy couch, he had no idea how much time had passed since Cas had picked him up on the street, as a nervous, apathetic wreck. But it didn't matter where or when _Dean_ was right now.

Just—where the actual hell was _Sammy_? All right, most likely he was just with Jess or something, because she was always the first one on his list to run to. But Dean couldn't relax all the same, because none of them bothered answering their cellphones.

Guessing wasn't enough, he had to know for sure that Sammy was okay, and not sitting on some old trucker's passenger seat on the road to nowhere, running away from home. Or, even worse, breaking out together with Jess. Those things happened all the time.

And also, of course Cas' presence didn't leave Dean all that cold, either. Especially how they were sitting. It was the exact same position like that one time, when Dean had temporarily lost his mind and had made a move on Cas. Well, except for his arm, maybe, it wasn't pathetically twining around Cas' shoulders this time. But other than that, yes, it was Dean's birthday again. Not like Dean _wanted_ his arm to lay in its former position, no, definitely not, that'd be seriously—improper. And… Oh, shut up!

Dean's arm was already really busy supporting his smoking habit, anyway. Holding cigarette after cigarette, lifting, lowering, flicking away butts, pulling out new ones… A full time job.

"Well", Cas replied, sincere as always. "Perhaps he doesn't want to talk to you."

"Oh, really", Dean grouched, peering hard at him from below. "No shit, Cas. How'd you come up with that?"

Testily, Dean took a long, deep drag, taking a sideling look at Cas. Of course, the confused frown wasn't too long in the coming.

Slowly, Dean blew the smoke into the cottage's heated air, because only then it formed the nicest shapes. Smoking inside another person's house might seem rude, but, Dean thought as his eyes lazily skimmed the overstuffed, rubbish-strewn room, not at _Cas_ ' place. Well, not anymore, that was. Cas' once pretty decent tidiness standards were now written large in the history of the neat-and-clean-math-teach era.

And Cas didn't mind at all. In fact, he'd surprised Dean a few minutes ago by asking if he could "have a taste of it", because it looked "quite delicate".

"You've tried to reach him approximately ten times now", Cas tore Dean out of his reasoning, still pondering over the sarcastic remark. "It seemed like the most logical conclusion. He doesn't want to talk to you, Dean."

"Yeah, thanks, Cas. Praise your brains, man. Thanks a lot for making that clear to me."

Cas just nodded. "My pleasure."

Dean's skeptical eyes possibly lingered in Cas' for a little longer than absolutely necessary. Then, his phone vibrated in his jean's pocket, urgent, and Dean broke away to have a look.

 ** _I'm with Jess_** **.** ** _Now stop terrorizing me, jerk_** **.**

Dean huffed. He turned to tell Cas about Sammy's vital sign. "Hey, Cas, seems like Sammy's fine. And, hate to admit it, but you were probably right, he—"

Dean choked mid-sentence. Cas was nodding, attentively listening. But he wasn't just looking anywhere. First of all, he was fucking _gaping_. Secondly, directly at Dean's fingers. The rollie nearly dropped out of his hands.

"Uhm", Dean chuckled, awkwardly. "You… wanna try again?"

"Yes", Cas immediately said. "I liked it. I'm glad that Sam is okay."

"Yeah, uh. You sure you wanna try again?" Dean swallowed. "'Cause last time you coughed like a—"

Cas simply picked it out his fingers.

"It's, uh… kinda wet… and gross—"

Except that it wasn't gross at all. Cas had been right, it looked… actually delicious. And this time, Cas didn't even cough, didn't even clear his throat or anything. He really just _tasted_ the smoke, and then blew it away, all the while wearing a serious expression. Dean had never wasted a thought on the aesthetics of tobacco consumption before, but Cas seemed to prove a point right here. Not to mention Dean's spit, that was kind of in Cas' mouth right now.

Dean cleared his throat. "What's this?"

Hit or miss, Dean fished a coffee-stained, crinkled sheet of paper out of the hopeless chaos that was Cas' couch table.

"Oh."

Cas grabbed the dirty paper, holding the cig like a pro. "That shouldn't be lying around here. These are the data for our upcoming class trip in January."

Well, that had certainly been a hit.

"Did you say _class trip_?"

"Yes…" Cas skimmed the paper. "Two days… to St. Tripper… with me and Mr. White… We're visiting the Tolerance Day, and, apparently there will be plenty of free-time."

"Hold on. We're not seriously going on a trip from St. Tipper... to _St. Tripper_?"

"Apparently, yes", Cas muttered, reading. "It says the town has good beaches."

"No, I mean", Dean tried again. "I've heard better jokes, you know. Never mind. Can't go there, anyway. Sam's _my responsibility now_ ", he reluctantly quoted John.

"Dean—"

"What?" Dean asked, testily.

Shrugging, Dean leaned back, and Cas swallowed whatever comment he was about to make, and kept on reading as if he was only learning about the trip in that very moment—which wasn't too unlikely.

There had yet to be a way, right? Maybe Sam could stay with Jess—no, scratch that. Her parents would never in the world allow him to spend two nights with their precious princess. Also, what if they conspired against humanity or something? Hippies were unpredictable after all. Nope, Jess was definitely out. So… who'd be there to trust? Gabe would be with Dean—and was less trustworthy than the Russian president. So, what about…

„Flynn", Cas spoke out Dean's thought. „Sam could stay with the Whites."

It was only then Dean realized how wrong that sounded.

"Cas", Dean began. "I can't just shunt Sammy off somewhere. I don't even know Walt Jr., or Flynn, or whatever, that well. What if I come back and Sammy's suddenly religiously listening to _Eminem_ and starts calling himself DJ McMoose or something? Wouldn't want to be responsible for _that."_

"I understand", Cas replied, after a while of falling quiet. "Your father is acting irresponsible. And you don't want to do the same. You don't want Sam to think less of you."

Dean just blinked at Cas, open-mouthed.

Quickly, he shut it again, when Cas, who was now sitting bent forward, leaning onto his lower arms, slightly tilted his head to give Dean a compassionate look. Childishly, Dean couldn't refrain from stealing his halfway-down cigarette back, in a poor attempt to rebuild the crumbling wall between them. The rollie's bottom was wet with Cas' spit, though.

"Yeah, well", Dean said, stuffing it into the corner of his mouth. "It's not that big of a deal, Cas. Doesn't sound too great if you ask me, anyway. St. Tripper, my ass, and beaches are completely overrated anyway. Seriously, I'm good."

"You", Cas corrected, still closely watching Dean, "don't think you deserve it. The enjoyment."

"What? No." Dean shifted, nervously. "I just, uh, don't wanna leave Sam here like that, y'know. I wish I _could_ go, though", he said, defensively. "It'd just feel wrong, that's all. Sam's too young, and he shouldn't have to… you know…"

"Go through the same as you did?"

Their eyes met.

Silently, biting his tongue, Dean nodded.

Neither of them felt the need to add anything more. Dean just buried his face in his hands, breathing in and out, pressing his torso onto his knees. Pictures of John sitting at their dinner table, red with anger, relentlessly coming back to him. The casualty in his last words: _I'm out_. Now, more than ever, it was all on Dean. Groaning, he pressed his fingertips against his forehead, as hard as he could.

That was when a cautious touch on his thigh made him freeze.

"I'll miss you, Dean", he heard Cas say, firmly and hesitantly at the same time.

Dean removed his hands from his face, looking at Cas' hand resting on his thigh. The brief, comforting touch got to him, and their conversation from earlier at school came to his mind, making him smile, albeit painfully. He glanced up at Cas, who looked as if he was about to wrap Dean in a blanket, make him soup and propose watching crap TV with him, all night, as if nothing else mattered.

"You miss me all the time, hm?" Dean asked, shyly nudging Cas' shoulder. "Even in the future, you miss me. Gotta say, that's pretty good for my ego."

Cas smiled, looking down at his hand on Dean's leg. "I'm even missing you right now, if it makes you feel better, Dean."

Dean huffed, following Cas' look. "That does kinda make me feel better."

A moment of silence passed.

"No, it doesn't", Dean added, low-voiced. "Not at all, actually."

Cas looked up at him, anxiously. "But I can't switch it off, Dean."

"No, no, that's not what I mean, Cas", Dean quickly said, calming. "It's just. You… _pining_ for me or whatever, y'know, it—it's not exactly Christmas eve." Dean stopped, gesticulating hand in the air. "Bad analogy. Winchester Christmas is about as fun as being chased across the swanky front yard of some suburban Dad 'cause you've been just about to whip it out for his daughter." Dean paused again. "So, from this point of view, you saying that you miss me actually feels like Christmas to me, Cas."

"Oh", Cas made, slightly nodding. "I understand. It… hurts you, doesn't it? Not physically, but—"

"Case is solved, Sherlock", Dean hectically interrupted him. "You can call Watson now, have a drink, maybe more, s'been a successful day on the drama front."

Cas frowned, reading Dean's face. "I don't understand that reference."

Dean gasped, annoyed. "Yeah, well, it's not my fault you've been living under a rock your whole life, Cas."

Cas looked down at Dean's leg again, pondering. Dean thought he looked sort of offended.

"Didn't mean it like that, Cas", Dean rasped, shameful. "You know you're awesome. Hell, you speak friggin' math as your first language. That's more than I will ever know."

"Thank you, Dean", Cas replied, downcast. "I just wish I could be better at—normal things, though. I wish I wouldn't have to research every human convention beforehand. I wish I—" Cas sighed.

"—I wish wouldn't be so lost without you, Dean."

Dean felt his throat tightening. "You're not lost, Cas. Hey, you're doing great. I mean. Look at you. Wow. Your—your beard, man! Ain't many guys who can grow something bad-ass like that. And you're teaching a whole class. Every day. You—"

Dean made an ultimate gesture at Cas' messy couch table, his dirty documents, and the spotty teacher shirt lying in the back of the room, next to his messy bed.

"—I mean, you—"

"I'm a mess, Dean", Cas finished for him, silencing Dean with a serious look, making Dean swallow, guiltily.

"There's no way to put it nicely, I'm afraid. And not only that, but I lack social skills. It is a severe problem, and it's getting worse. After all, it is the reason we don't do … _this_ anymore, isn't it. You became tired of explaining planet earth to me. And that evening, on your birthday, because I couldn't possibly control these 'emotions' anymore, I absolutely crossed the line, and there is no way to put that nicely, either, Dean."

"Wait, _you_ crossed the line?" Dean repeated, eyes wide.

"Yes", Cas confirmed with a half-shrug. "Of course."

Dean huffed, baffled. "As far as I remember, Cas, it was no one but _me_ who pretty much barrel-rolled over the line. _I_ touched you up."

"But I enjoyed it", Cas countered. "A little too much, I'm afraid. Dean, I would have let you done… _anything_ to me. Anything at all."

It took Dean a few seconds to process that information. "Okay. Okay, but. _I_ wanted to kiss you in that moment. Hollywood-style."

"But _I_ had an erection, Dean", Cas said, sighing, annoyed. "And Balthazar will never stop mocking me about what happened, because of course, after you've been gone, he immediately noticed my 'situation'."

"Yeah, but", Dean said, swallowing. " _I_ literally stuck my thumb in your mouth, Cas, so I think I win."

Cas turned to him, rolling his eyes. "Why are we arguing about this, Dean?"

Dean looked away, falling quiet for a moment. "I—I don't know."

Cas nodded, seriously. "Me neither."

For a moment no one said anything, Dean listening to his thudding heartbeat, contemplating whether or not he should tell Cas to finally take his hand from his thigh, until Cas spoke up, quietly, looking nowhere in particular.

"Most of all", he began, gravely. "I just wish we could go back to where we were Dean, because quite honestly, you made my life enjoyable and… frankly, livable. Now it is just—plain human existence, I guess. It's strange. Meaningless. I don't like it."

"No one likes it", Dean agreed, quietly.

Cas understood what Dean meant, and compassionately, he fell silent again.

"Do you want to talk about what happened today, Dean?" Cas asked, after a while, turning his head to give Dean a warm look. "With… your father?"

Dean puckered his lips. "Not particularly, no."

Cas nodded. "I understand. I just want you to know that, whenever you or your brother needs something—help, a ride to school, or just a little company—I'm here for you. For both of you. Reason or time doesn't matter."

"Okay", Dean said, feeling a lump coming about in his throat. "Thanks, Cas. That—that means a lot."

Cas didn't say anything more, just quietly began caressing Dean's thigh with one thumb in response, comforting. Dean wished it wouldn't affect him as much, wished he could just enjoy some comfort for once without getting all girly, but of course his breath hitched, loudly, and he felt sudden redness creeping up his neck. Cas—of course—took notice right away.

"Is this okay, Dean?" Cas asked, hesitantly. "Should I stop? Or is it—acceptable?"

Dean made a fist, looking away.

Cas waited, patiently.

"Why are you even asking", Dean grumbled, eventually, barely audible.

Cas heard it though, and smilingly, carried on with caressing Dean like he was fragile, needed to be fixed or something. It was kind of nice, though, _friendly_ , even, and Dean hated himself for overreacting the way he did. Because his body definitely did, making that tiny spot where Cas' hand lay seemingly radiate all over him. His brain soon joined the party, too, pondering over what was going on between them, right now, and whether this was going to be just a one-time reunion or not. The sheer possibility of them 'going back together' sent Dean's heartbeat flying.

For a few minutes, Dean maintained his crouched position, listening to the frictional noise of Cas' hand stroking his jeans over and over, slowly, clocklike, until he just couldn't take it anymore.

What the hell did Cas think he was doing? Well, the more bothering question was probably why Dean was enjoying it as much as he did.

He wasn't sure whom he was so friggin' angry at when he finally leaned back, let out his held breath, and sourly faced the opposite wall. From the corner of his eye, he saw Cas doing basically the same, except for the thigh-stroking thing, of course.

"Cas?"

"Yes?" Cas replied, immediately.

Dean turned his head, giving him a look as if to say _you fucking know what_.

Unfortunately, Cas eyes were really distracting, always had been, so the desired effect kind of vanished away when Dean's look got stuck in them. Those bluer-than-blue irises were enraging Dean even more, especially their stupid _honesty_ , and _innocence_ and—oh, hell, not _this_ again.

That tragic glimpse, that _thing_ Dean had noticed the last time they'd sat here alone together, when Dean had… well, when he'd touched… yeah, never mind. Through angry eyes, he found that certain expression in Cas' look again, the one that had driven him crazy over the last months whenever he'd remembered it, because it'd been friggin' _impossible_ to forget, okay. That longing.

 _Stop it_ , Dean wanted to grouch at him. _Stop looking at me like you fucking… like me more than you should. Stop that shit right now—and stop stealing my voice while you're at it._

A few more seconds, and Dean, with a long, annoyed sigh, grinded out his—their—cigarette in some used plate on the table. Then, he simply grabbed Cas' hand, the one that had lain on his thigh, and found Cas' innocent look again. Sort of accusingly, Dean cupped it firmly with both of his hands.

 _Is that what you want?_ His look asked.

Cas didn't need to say anything. Because he just swallowed, eyes evasively wandering to his trapped hand, shyly. It was hard to tell, because at least half of his face was covered with thick, scruffy hair, but if he was seriously _blushing_ right now, then that friggin' did it. Obviously, he was trying to kill Dean.

Unstoppably, the bottled-up, aching rage started seething in Dean's guts, in his whole body. So what if he just did it? After all Cas was practically begging for it.

And goddammit, those hot, sweaty fingertips brushing the sensitive skin of his palm made him tingle in all the wrong places. Also, Cas wasn't pulling away, not one bit. Hell, _he_ was the one who had initiated it, kind of. So, Dean thought, what if he just…

… he was actually going for it.

There was a tiny moment, when Dean had already leaned in so close that Cas' breath was tickling his tight lips, when Dean was afraid Cas would suddenly back off, reject him, or even worse, laugh. But Cas didn't move at all, not even his fingers. Dean lowered his look, hesitating. Saw the striped pattern of those pink lips, individual, like fingertips. Tempting.

Dean was in over his head, unable to think twice about it.

It was supposed to be a quick, angry peck—a basic _fuck you_ to Cas' constant touches, stares and general confusion.

But then, when Dean actually _met_ those dry, warm and full lips again, _soberly,_ and they were giving in so maddeningly easy, he forgot all about his plan. His mind turned blank, into a puddle of awe.

So that was kissing. The things Cas _wasn't_ doing were driving Dean crazy, the way he was accepting Dean's kiss, but really didn't do anything about it. Lips closed, rigid, he was at a loose end.

Dean had no idea for how long they'd been lingering over his former peck, breathing onto each other's faces, his heart shamelessly whooping it up for Cas, when he couldn't resist anymore.

He wanted _more_. Wanted to get the best of Cas, push him over, gently, but not _too_ gently, and sit on his lap again, make him feel those 'emotions' that Cas found so overwhelming, to show him how much he wanted him, too.

 _Earth to Dean_ , his mind interrupted. _You're friggin'_ kissing _him._

Dean startled and backed off.

Far enough to quickly sift through Cas' eyes.

Confused, he found them closed.

In fact, Cas' facial features were completely out of it, softened, dreamy. Slowly, Cas leaned in again, not even hesitating, only willing to go back to where they'd been only seconds ago. Wherever that had been.

Dean gasped, panicking, when Cas opened his eyes.

Quickly, Dean stared down at his own feet.

"Unacceptable", Cas concluded, questioningly.

Dean just nodded.

"Unacceptable as hell."


	13. Planes

**Chapter 13**

„And that is why, _mi hijo_ , you should never start workin' on some _plugged in_ wire." Bobby raised his finger, lecturing. "It never ends well."

"Uh, yeah", Dean replied, wondering if Bobby was high. "Good to know. But that didn't answer my question. Can Sam stay at your place for two days? Just two days next week. Wouldn't ask you if I wasn't that desperate."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Bobby asked, grumpily. Already, Dean regretted asking him in the first place. "Thought I was your _favorito_. You just made an old man very sad, son."

"Listen, buddy." Dean held up his hands, not up for any games. "Just tell me if it's alright with you or not."

"Well." Bobby raised one brow and walked over to his old transistor radio, smirking. "Usually I search for answers in my songs. You know 'em well, Dean. But I hate to tell you that yesterday my good ol' radio died on me. And, as you know, the business isn't what it used to be. No money. So, _sin música_."

"Bobby, I'm serious", Dean interrupted, impatiently. "Can you stop playin' around for one second and just answer my damn question?"

"Nah", Bobby simply put him off. "Not until my _bonito_ pal Crowley brings my music back."

Groaning, Dean was just rolling his eyes to the cobwebbed ceiling— _can you believe that man_ —when loudly approaching footsteps made him nearly jump up to said ceiling. The clattering sound could only mean one thing. Boots. Probably fancy ones.

"Shit", Dean hissed, already ducking down under the work bench. "Speaking of the devil."

"Oh, you mean the king of hell?" Bobby adjusted his sombrero. "I've dealt with worse, trust me. The Mexican drug police, for instance. Oh, boy, you don't wanna mess around with these guys, Dean. But Crowley? Please. Hell, this is gonna be fun."

Dean heard a loud, alarming crackling sound, when Bobby set his knuckles. Crouching in the dirt under the work bench, Dean was expecting the worst.

Crowley turned in a pretty dramatic performance. With a convulsive bang, the heavy cellar door suddenly displayed the unmistakable figure of St. Tipper High's principal. Soundlessly, the grout fluttered on the ground like snow, or ashes, surrounding Crowley.

"Hello, darling."

Holding in his breath, Dean tensely watched the red boots hectically milling around the crammed, sweltering room.

"He ain't here, asshat, so beat it."

Crowley swirled around, squinting, and finished his round at Bobby's sandals wearing feet.

Unimpressed, Bobby didn't move at all.

"I'm surprised, El Cantante", Crowley said, bitingly. "I could have sworn I saw him walk down here half an hour ago. Dean Winchester. But it seems like my eyes aren't what they used to be. But why am I even telling you? You know how it is. We're all getting old, aren't we."

When Bobby didn't react, Crowley clapped his hands, turning around. "Nice chat. I love how talkative you are, El Cantante."

 _He's scared_ , Dean thought, and couldn't help but stare, fascinatedly, when Bobby grabbed Crowley's shoulder, violently turning him around again.

"Whaddya know", Bobby grunted. "I'm not getting old, _muchacho_ , an El Cantante just keeps gettin' better with age. Didn't ya know? Don't try and peg me as the old bugger that you are, Crowley, or we're gonna have a bad time again. Now—"

Bobby paused to poke Crowley's chest with his finger.

"—get outta my heatin' room, or I'll kick your… your… oh, balls. Almost forgot!"

Bobby forcefully dragged Crowley by his shoulder in front of the broken radio, nearly pushing his face onto it.

"There. See? _Nada. Sin música_. You gotta buy me a new one, 'cause I refuse to work without my _música_."

"Well", Crowley said, senselessly pressing a few buttons, playing for time. "I'll see what can be done."

"Sounds like _you_ wanna scrub the floor tomorrow", Bobby picked at him. "Fine with me, sir Crowley. You don't need to buy me a new one anymore. The sound of _that_ already is _música_ to my ears."

"Enough, El Cantante!" Crowley suddenly yelled, wresting himself free. "I didn't come here for this! I am _the king_ and how bloody _dare_ you eroding my power!"

"He didn't come here for this", Bobby repeated, mockingly. "And you expect me to believe that?"

"I expect you to follow my bloody rules", Crowley hissed, poking Bobby's chest, "because you are my slave, and frankly, you should be down on your knees, polishing my boots, kissing my derrière, worshipping the _bloody ground I'm walking on."_

"Oh, is that so", Bobby said, scoffing. "And yet I'm here, doing _this."_

With that, Bobby brutally pushed Crowley forward, making him trip over his own feet. Wrathfully, Crowley bobbed up, but only ended up being slammed against the next best wall. Bobby's sombrero sailed to the floor like it didn't want anything to do with this.

"Please", Crowley whined, all rueful now. "Let go of me… and I'll..."

" _Buy the damn radio",_ Bobby growled.

Dean couldn't exactly see what Bobby was doing to him, because his back was blocking the view, but Crowley's desperate whining and twisting spoke for itself.

"Buy… _it_."

"I _will!"_ Crowley called out, choked. "I _will,_ you bloody psychopath!"

" _Bueno_ ", Bobby approved, abruptly backing off. " _Y gracias._ You're a wise man, Crowley."

Motionlessly, Bobby watched Crowley lose his footing, and tumbling down. Eventually, Crowley looked up at Bobby from below, clenching his hurting stomach, heavily breathing. There seemed to be a weird moment of understanding between the two that Dean couldn't catch.

"You've gotta be kiddin' me", Bobby groaned, suddenly.

"Do I look like I'm up for _kidding_ right now", Crowley panted. "The school's support money turned out poorly this year. Extraordinarily poorly. And such a radio, El Cantante, a good one, is an expensive buy, and I cannot just go out and get one for you. What's in it for me? There is never anything in for me, or is there, _honey bear?"_

Bobby let out a frustrated sigh. "Yeah, shut up." Annoyed, he waved his hand. "How much do you want?"

"Well, like I said, a good radio is at a very high price."

"How _much_?" Bobby barked, impatiently.

Catching a pained breath, finally Crowley managed to straighten up, brushing off his coat.

"You are familiar with the currency, darling, so I suggest you to just show me how much you've got in these filthy, surprisingly big pockets of yours."

Now, out of the blue, Bobby had apparently decided to violently slam Crowley against the wall once again. Frightened, Dean knocked his head, and mouthed a million curses, desperately trying to handle the enormous pain without attracting the attention of the crazy old men. Pressing his cheek on the cold concrete floor, Dean was groveling as silently as he could, when all of a sudden, he heard something… unexpected.

"That covers it?"

Dean's eyeballs bulged out. Did they seriously just…? No, they didn't. Or did they? Dangerously, he crawled forward as far as he could get away with, peering at the two.

"Well, it's really expensive. Only the very best for you, honey. And the school isn't exactly— _mmhpf!"_

Dean couldn't believe his eyes.

But the way the janitor grabbed Crowley's cheeks, pressing their old faces together in an urgent, kind of violent way was leaving absolutely no room for interpretation.

And—Dean detected as he crawled out even further—they weren't just _kissing_ , which would have been gross enough already. No, they were _making out_. And like it was with everything that was really disturbing, Dean just couldn't make himself look away.

Dean had never seen anyone kiss the way Bobby did before, and he definitely wasn't sorry for that. Crowley, however, was totally into it, enjoying the rough treatment a lot. Hell, he was basically _jumping_ Bobby. Dean hadn't known that Bobby had such an enormous mouth—and why the hell would he _care_ —but now that Bobby was opening his jaw ever so wide, Dean, undoubtedly, would never forget about that over-average body part ever again.

Then, abruptly, Bobby gave way.

Quickly, Dean reacted by cannon-backing to the hindmost angle under the workbench.

Right in front of Dean's crouched leg, Bobby's sandals stopped, so close he could have kicked 'em if he'd wanted to.

Crowley sighed, deeply, getting ready to leave.

"Well, are you happy now?" Bobby grunted, leaning against the edge of the work bench.

The door knob already in his hand, Crowley stopped, turning his heels.

"Oh, El Cantante, how very shy of you. Am I _happy_ now. Please. I'm quite positive that you felt my overbearing happiness very clearly."

Bobby huffed. "Well, it ain't that big."

Crowley's face turned an angry red. "Spare me the pillow talk, would you."

"Only speakin' the truth."

"Eat me."

"Nah, thanks. Just had breakfast."

Finally, the door fell shut. Cheeks burning, Dean saw Bobby turn around to his workbench. Possibly, Dean wondered, in the heat of the moment his presence had been simply forgotten, but there was no way he'd simply let this—whatever it was that'd just happened—slide.

Dean cleared his throat, loudly, pushing himself past Bobby's stumpy legs. Judgingly, he placed himself next to Bobby, who was seemingly working on some wires, ignoring Dean, completely. When Dean wasn't making any move to leave, however, Bobby eventually turned to him.

"What?" Bobby barked, defensively. "Never seen a broke man before?"

"Uh, for your information, broke is my middle name, but I've never even contemplated prostituting myself for a friggin' _radio._ What are you, insane?"

"Aw, that's funny, coming from you."

"What's that supposed to mean? You're the one who's talking about the size of Crowley's dick like it's the weather, man. You're literally _selling_ yourself to him."

"Oh, shut up, it ain't like that."

Dean blinked. "Excuse me? Are you telling me that you and Crowley… that's a _thing?"_

Bobby sighed. "Define thing."

"Well, you know—a _thing_ thing? An actual two old men in love, polishing each other's walking sticks kinda thing?"

"Looks like it, don't it", Bobby confirmed, testily. "Minus the 'in love' part. Hell, Dean, I don't know where we're standing, me and him, and—besides, watch your damn language, boy, we're not _that_ old."

"Oh, right", Dean said, mockingly. "Because an El Cantante's getting better with age. I forgot."

Bobby glared at him. "How about you mind your own damn business, son. And stop pretending like this here is some shattering, new ground for you, 'cause it sure as hell ain't."

Dean narrowed his eyes. "Bobby, I have no idea what you're talking ab—"

"Please, boy", Bobby groaned. "White shirt? Blue eyes? Little out of it? Kinda looks like he's going to burst out singing _Hey Jude_ any minute?"

"What, _Cas?"_ Dean asked, confused. "What's Cas got to do with this?"

"Would you stop playing stupid, Dean. You know what I mean!"

"Uh", Dean made, puckering his lips. "No, sorry, I don't see the connection."

Bobby rolled his eyes. "Do I need to spell it out for you? I've got Crowley, and you got your _Cas_ guy. Enough said."

"Okay, okay", Dean said, conciliatory, heart beating fast. "But—I don't _have_ Cas. Just to make that clear. We're friends. Or were friends. And—"

"Yeah, and I'm a skinny, French runway model", Bobby interrupted. "Come on, I've heard you talk about him at least a million times, Dean. Cas here, Cas there. Bo-hoo, Cas and I aren't friends anymore. Now Cas has grown a beard and I kinda like it. Cas looked at me today, Bobby. _Twice."_

"Shut up, I don't sound like that", Dean snapped.

"Well, how would you know, I'm the one who's gotta listen to this _pining_ crap every single day!"

"I'm _not_ —"

"Please, Dean, I've been through the same procedure with Crowley, and it took us over a year until we finally—"

"La, la, la, I can't hear you", Dean yelled, quickly pressing his ears shut.

"Dammit, Dean!" Bobby called out, grabbing Dean's shoulders.

For a few seconds, neither of them said anything. Something in Bobby's look made Dean slowly lower his hands and listen to him, even though all Dean really wanted to do was run away. Far away from here.

"I'm not gonna say this twice", Bobby began, reluctantly. "So you better listen closely, boy. The past few weeks, I've watched you fall apart, Dean, and I ain't having none of that crap anymore. Something's eating away at you, and if it's got anything to do with your _Cas_ guy, then I strongly suggest you to finally get your shit together and do something about it, whatever it is that you choose to do in the end. You can't go on being one leg in, one leg out. Take it or leave it, understand?"

Dean swallowed, heart racing. "Yeah. Yeah, okay. I understand."

Satisfied, Bobby let go of Dean. There was an awkward moment of silence during which Bobby's little speech was really sinking in, and Dean noticed Bobby slightly blushing.

"I'm sorry, were we just talking _feelings?"_ Dean asked.

"Yeah", Bobby coughed. "Looks like it."

"That was… weird."

"Agreed", Bobby muttered in his beard.

"Let's never do that again?" Dean suggested.

"Good idea."

* * *

On the 6th of January a paper-thin, sparkling blanket of snow was covering all of St. Tipper—the town of the living dead—and as with everything else around there nobody really gave a damn about it. Snow in winter? Oh my, what a surprise. Who'd have seen that coming?

Of course said _nobody_ was mostly Dean. But c'mon, who'd think any differently. It was just another natural given, simply taken for granted, annoyingly blinding until one day it just melted down, like every year, leaving drenched, muddy streets and nothing good. Great show. Thank you and good night.

So, in short, Dean wasn't too stoked about snow crystals, or the beginning of a new year as well. Just another year, another month, another day, right?

Wrong.

Because today was departure day, and it was all just really messy behind the unimposing, wooden façade of that small cottage up the hill, where the brothers were currently busy discussing whether or not it was cool with Sam for Dean to actually leave for a few days. According to Dean, it was further away from being cool than Sahara Desert.

"Dean, for the billionth time."

Sam closed his eyes, taking a frustrated breath.

"I'm not twelve anymore. I'll seriously survive two days without you. No, actually, let me put it differently, I will _rejoice_ two days without you."

Sam tried an annoyed look, but Dean's boundless fuss was kind of funny, so he just ended up smiling with puckered brows.

"Just chill out", Sam entrusted him, putting his hands on Dean's shoulders. "It's all going to be okay. It's no big deal. Now, you take your things and go. You're running late."

"You want me to blow it off? 'Cause I still can", Dean simply skipped over Sammy's seemingly careless attitude. Bitch had to be stifling the truth. "You tell me to stay and I will. Just say so. I really wouldn't mind. No need for you to play tough guy here, Sammy."

"Dean", Sam laughed, cheerfully, and slightly shook Dean's shoulders. "Relax. I'll be alright. You're totally freaking out." He paused, and when he thought Dean listened, he went on extra-slowly, the way you'd talk to an over-anxious child. "I'm fine. Now _go_ … and have _fun_."

Fun? Was he serious? Well, he looked like he was. Contented, Sam watched his brother calm down a little. Dean nodded, hesitatingly, while still searching Sam's look for any signs of withdrawal or lying.

"You sure?" Dean finally asked, raising his brows.

"Sure as hell. Now stop blowing it up already, take your few things and _go_. You don't wanna miss the plane, right?"

Breathing in deeply, Dean nodded again. "Right."

And Sam let him go, knowing that he'd won this time.

Of course Dean wasn't entirely convinced, but then again, Dean figured he'd never be, so he might as well try and pretend to believe in Sammy's words, if only to make himself feel less like a piece of irresponsible shit. He would just make the best of it for Sammy. Yeah. That sounded like a plan. Emphasizing, he readily flicked his back pack over his shoulder, now realizing how actually late as hell he was, when someone knocked on their door, quietly.

 _About friggin' time_ , Dean thought, putting on his most parentally overawing don't-fuck-with-me-face, and opened the door for Walt Jr. "Flynn" White.

"H—hey, Dean."

Flynn stood in the snow, leaning on his crutch, wearing a puffy, red ski jacket and a crooked, sort of trustworthy smile. "I'm coming to p—pick up your brother."

"Yeah, hi", Dean replied, shortly. „You better take care of my brother while I'm gone, man. Make sure he eats somethin' once in a while."

"I'm not a pet, Dean", Sam said, tying up his organic hemp jacket. "Let's go, Flynn."

"B—bye, Dean", Flynn said, hobbling down the hill. "H—have an A1 day. Sam will be fine. Mum already m—made b—breakfast."

„Awesome. Thanks, man."

Dean quickly tapped Sammy's shoulder while zipping up his brown leather jacket. Walking, Sam smiled and waved at Dean, kind of mockingly, Dean noticed with fret.

"So long, bitch", Dean bid good-bye to Sam, and easily outpaced Flynn. Behind his back, he could hear Sammy quietly answer his catch-phrase, and couldn't help but grin.

His grin widened even more when he spotted Cas, waiting for him in the cold, leaning onto his brown Chevy, and looking like he'd just fallen right out of a trash can. Well, except that behind the ugly sweatpants, the oversized dark blue wool jumper and the (oh my God, were those his) garden shoes, was still annoyingly gorgeous _Cas,_ who was driving Dean completely nuts, as lastly vividly demonstrated about one month ago, when they'd… _kissed_. Kind of. Friggin' _soberly,_ at that _._

But—unsurprisingly—Dean never thought about that. It was just another _thing_ that had happened between them. Well, technically, Dean had just pushed the memory to the far back of his mind, which meant it was still always there, wasn't erased. But he never really, never purposely… never mind. He couldn't believe he'd friggin' kissed Cas. But at least, after what had happened on the day of John's last goodbye, they were on speaking terms again, and plus, they'd somehow made Cas' silent back-stroking thingy part of their daily routine.

"Heya, Cas." Dean grinned at him, checking out the hideous wool monster he was wrapped in. "Look, we all know life on the street's pretty hard these days and all, but you could've at least dug out a pair of clean jeans or somethin'. You know, you're gonna get us all a great deal of extra time at the security check."

"I, uh", Cas replied, giving his grey, saggy pants an insecure tug. "I thought I had to dress comfortable for the flight. You told me this was socially acceptable, Dean." Then, realizing the meaning of Dean's words with a pained expression: "Oh. _Oh._ That one took me a moment. You mean that I'm looking like an unsafe suspect."

"Yeah, but a teacher suspect," Dean said, casually, while getting in the car. "That's your alibi, bad guy. Now stop freezing your ass off and hit the road already, we're late." Dean gestured, vaguely. "Thanks to me."

Wearing a frown, Cas opened the driver's door, bringing in the biting cold, and clumsily sat down behind the wheel. Dean watched Cas fiddle with the car keys, when all of a sudden he remembered his ultimate, last minute heart-to-heart-avoidance strategy.

"Oh, uh, look." Dean rummaged around every single one of his pockets. _There we go_ , he thought, grasping the square-shaped form of the tape he'd pursed earlier. "Check this out. You like 'em, right? _The Beatles._ Don't know which album, but…"

Cas immediately stopped what he was doing, his fingers joining Dean's, brushing his fingertips. With an awkward smile, Dean quickly stuffed his own hand back in his jean's pocket, and Cas intently studied the dusty tape, slowly turning it before his eyes, devoutly. For a critical moment, Dean wasn't so sure about the atmosphere he'd created, until, luckily—according to plan—Cas began his time travel with a nostalgic gleam in his eyes.

„Thank you, Dean", Cas said, sort of touched. "You remembered."

"Yeah", Dean grumbled, embarrassed. "Sure I did."

"Do you remember how we listened to them, Dean", Cas went on, dreamily. "On that one day back in September, sitting on your bed. Do you remember that, Dean?"

Dean blushed, not knowing where to look. "Yeah. That was—kinda nice, wasn't it."

"Yes", Cas agreed, quietly, smiling to himself. "Yes, it was. I remember everything."

"Okay", Dean said, coughing slightly. "Me too. But we better get going now, 'cause—"

"It's funny, how it is possible to connect one's entire life periods, or just very… special evenings, to a group of four people that you've never met. And most of them are even long dead. Remarkable, isn't it? You know, Dean, I've listened to them back in college, all of the time. Mostly, when I was alone in my room. That happened—"

"—quite a lot, yeah, I know", Dean awkwardly finished, scratching his cheek. This wasn't really the reaction he'd been aiming for. "Let's get going now, 'kay? You can listen to them for the whole ride. Go back in time and stuff." Dean forced a yawn. "I wanna sleep anyway."

"Oh, _oh_ , yes", Cas agreed, as if woken up from a dream. "The class trip. I almost forgot."

Dean blushed even harder. "Yeah, well, we're not going on some skiing vacation together."

Cas glanced at Dean, shyly, while inserting the tape. "No. No, of course not."

Dean crossed his arms. "Damn straight."

A second later, the car's inside was filled with soft, harmonic guitar chords, peaceful choirs, and soon enough the steady hum of the Chevy's ageing motor. Dean's mind, however, was all but peaceful for the first ten minutes of their road trip, because he was violently struggling to fight off the images of Cas and him sharing a cramped ski hut, basking each other, and the arising memories of their night in Dean's cottage, cuddling, snuggling like lovers.

Eventually, Dean's head got heavier and heavier as the dull, snow-covered landscape rushed past his more and more sleepy gaze, eyelids slowly developing a life on their own, impossible to keep open for more than two seconds. At every turn he startled, half-blind, dizzily blinking into the glistening brightness in and outside Cas' car, numbly realizing that Lennon and McCartney were now already halfway through their cheesy song about crap they could work out or something.

As soon as they hit the highway, and Cas picked up pace, Dean managed to actually fall asleep in the end, within the first beats of what he'd wearily identified as that one song where they went all crazy about holding some chick's hand the whole time. No great loss there.

The past few days Dean had set up an all-time record in sleeplessness. He wasn't even sure if he'd slept _at all_. Every time, as soon as he'd closed his eyes, Cas' stupid face had appeared in the dark, with those goddamn laughter lines, and those annoyingly tender lips, fucking forbidden, and as Dean had tossed and turned in bed, his mind had simply decided to torture him a little more by turning the upcoming class trip over and over like a friggin' vortex.

By the end of the nights, the trip had usually blown up into an enormous monster of an issue. Mostly, because Dean had had no idea how to deal with the _Cas situation_ the whole two days, still hadn't. Precisely, with their unspoken, nondescript thing. Also, Lisa. Both of them united. It'd been pure horror. No wonder he was a chronic insomniac with eye circles darker than his blood-curdling nightmares.

Still, now being all alone on the road with Cas, locked in a rusty sheet metal cover, Dean felt weirdly sheltered rather than terrorized. So much so that he'd reached friggin' _deep sleep_.

Irony was a real bitch sometimes.

* * *

Hours later, only at the airport's spacious parking area, an ear-deafening roar of a landing machine managed to break through to Dean's knocked-out mind. _The Beatles_ , however, had completely failed at that part throughout the whole drive, though Dean was definitely feeling some kind of dizzy peace-and-love-hangover now that he was waking up.

Jerky, Dean raised his head, staring at the surreal giant sweeping across the clear sky.

"Wait a minute", he murmured, sleepily, when the noise declined. "We've only just left."

On the driver's seat, Cas tilted his head in confusion. His hands were resting on his thighs, eyes focused on a group of young people passing the front window.

"I've been driving for nearly three hours, Dean. I'd say that's quite some time. " He paused, turning to eye Dean up. "You look well rested. Did you have a good sleep?"

What the… _what?_

Dean couldn't believe it.

Next thing Dean knew, Cas was hectically dragging him all across the huge, crowded entrance hall of the airport, going round and round with his infamous I-don't-understand-face, until Dean's tired head started spinning. Obviously, Cas was running in circles, but Dean was of no use, because he'd never been to an airport before. He had no clue what was supposed to happen next.

Anyhow, in the middle of the felt tenth round through the jam-packed, stressful hall, along hordes of travelers, people waiting, and air filled with the sound of laughter, a thousand gabbling voices, re-echoing footsteps and rolling suitcases, Dean finally decided to put in his two cents.

"Cas, uh", Dean began, grabbing Cas' arm, that was clutching a tail of his leather-jacket. "Aren't we supposed to, you know… _be_ somewhere? A certain flight or something?"

"No… I mean, yes", Cas replied, distracted. "We agreed on meeting up here beforehand, though. Can you spot them, Dean?"

„Uh, Cas, you know, if they aren't here then there's a pretty high chance we totally missed the—"

As if on cue, a mechanical voice droned out of the speakers, shutting Dean up. " _Last call for flight 267 air terminal 2b eastbound. Two more passengers are being awaited. Repeat, last call for—"_

Cas and Dean faced each other, perplexedly.

"That's… our flight. They didn't wait, did they."

Dean just stared back at him, fairly surprised, too, although he couldn't suppress a tiny bit of relieve. So, they weren't gonna make it. That meant that Dean's strategy had worked after all—

—Oh, dammit.

Apparently, Cas wasn't one to give up that easily. Because with a forceful start, he suddenly went on with dragging Dean to some unknown destination, rushing through glassy corridors, the security check—surprisingly, he got off rather cheaply—and finally to the huge landing field, where an enormous, frightening plane was planting itself in front of them, kind of threateningly. Before Dean even had a chance to think better of it, a stressed-looking stewardess called them by name and quickly shooed them up the stairs.

Inside, Dean noticed with relieve, it looked like a simple train coach. Possibly he'd be able to talk himself into actually believing he was on a train. A train that would lift off the ground in a few minutes. A train that would be riding above the clouds. No big deal, right? Yeah, right. He was scared as hell.

"All right, students, looks like we're finally complete."

Mr. White—Flynn's Dad, who was also their chemistry teach—stood in the aisle, listlessly, talking to the taken seats at the far back of the plain. Out of breath, Dean and Cas stopped next to him. Dean looked around.

Where the hell was… Oh, that _sonofabitch._ Sitting next to their classmate Kevin, Gabe shot Dean an apologetic look, making a helpless gesture with his hands. _Yeah, thanks a ton, man,_ Dean notified him, telepathically. Lisa, Dean observed, resignedly, was sitting next to Meg, flashing him an annoyingly sympathetic smile. Dean really should've just stayed at home.

"Now that we're all here, please return to your seats. And Mr. Novak and Dean", Mr. White turned to them, sighing. "I've saved this double seat here for you." He flourished his hand right next to Cas. "Front row."

 _That figures_ , Dean thought, grumpily, watching Cas store away their few carry-on baggage. _Another two hours next to Cas. Terrific._

Sighing, Dean collapsed into his seat. Cas was now staring out of the small window, looking extraordinarily pensive. With his ever-growing, voluminous beard he actually could be some kind of would-be philosopher, Dean thought, randomly. And that was when it hit in again. The irrational feel that he was going on a trip with _Cas_ rather than together with his classmates. Now, being isolated, it didn't even feel _that_ irrational anymore.

And as if that thought wasn't scary enough already, the machine now started rolling, slow-paced, like a roller coaster getting off the starting blocks. Dean pressed his eyes shut, trying hard to control his breathing.

 _Friggin' planes, man._

* * *

All hysteria aside, it had turned out that flying actually wasn't much different from train riding. Well, apart from the clouds-under-your-feet thing, of course. Other than that, it really was no biggie, and Cas was busy reading some dog-eared book the whole time, anyway. So, sooner or later Dean's heart had calmed down a few beats, and again, he'd fallen asleep faster than a bashing of one's eyelids. Almost as if Cas was his personal sleeping pill or something.

The flight was just drawing to an end, when a sudden vibrant rumbling nudged Dean against something soft, something _woolly_.

He grumbled, sleepily.

Shortly after, another turbulence caused his forehead to heavily punch against a… a dark blue jumper. Of course, Dean had to be sleeping on Cas' shoulder like a pathetic baby. He lifted his tired head, blinking. Cas was just gazing into the distance, wide-awake, his body alarmingly rigid.

"Dammit", Dean cursed, when the airplane abruptly jumped up again, causing a nervous whisper to spread like wildfire between the passengers.

The world beyond the plane was jet-black, Dean noticed with horror. A girl behind his back squeaked, and someone in the front yelled "What's going on?!", full-throated. The sudden turmoil scared Dean mortally. Were they caught in a thunderstorm? Were they _crashing?_

Dean turned about, wildly, only to find everyone else looking even more horrified than he felt.

So that was it. He was going to die on his first flight.

"Dean."

Cas' voice made him swirl around, and nearly break his own neck.

 _The hell's going on,_ Dean wanted to scream at him, _are we going to die?_

"Dean… it hurts."

Vaguely, Dean saw his own hand clinging onto Cas' outer arm, realizing that he'd probably slept like this the whole time, huddled up against Cas, but that notion didn't touch him the slightest right now, because the goddamn _lights began to flicker._

Dean backed off, pressing himself into his seat with full force, hanging on his armrests for dear life. Another forceful gust caused the plane to trouble so hard that a few pieces of baggage hit the opposite passengers like a storm of deadly missiles. The stewardess was thrown to the floor like a puppet. She cried out in pain.

Dean's thumping heart leaped into his throat, when a hand—warm, heavy and urgent—suddenly covered his own.

Knowing it was Cas', Dean just went ahead and grabbed it, tightly, as firmly as he could. So what if he broke it this time. They were going to die in a friggin' plane crash. Soon they'd be floating across the Atlantic in bloody piece parts. They were going _down_. Wasn't that what the pilot had just said? Dean couldn't make out his shredded words. The machine shook and spun like a buckling pony, back and forth, just like Dean's stomach. He turned white as snow, drenched with cold sweat. They were _so_ dying.

Dean yanked his watery eyes open to cast one final look at Cas.

He was sitting as straight as a board.

From the corner of his eyes, Cas was returning Dean's look. Terrified, Dean watched his stony face light up, then shade, light and dark, bottling Dean up with its pervasive stare.

In spite of the terror all around them, Dean held fast onto Cas, who was pressing his hand just as tight, and God, Dean had never been so thankful for anyone's existence. The plane sank into total chaos, underlain by the shredded voice of the pilot, but Dean didn't even perceive any of it anymore, for his racing heartbeat was drowning out the noise, completely.

Hell, Dean could even _kiss_ Cas again—only properly this time—and it wouldn't matter at all.

The urge rose synchronous to the storm.

The way Cas' eyes were staring at him, anxious but trustful—Dean couldn't just lose him when he was looking at him like that. Cas was his friggin' lifebelt, and it felt like Dean didn't really have a choice when his outer hand reached out for Cas' face, fingers soon running through scratchy whisker.

Surprisingly, Cas immediately embarked on it. His look wandered down to Dean's unclosed lips before Dean himself even knew he was actually proposing doing it, but apparently, he _was_ , and Cas didn't seem to differ. In fact, Cas was now cupping Dean's neck, firmly, pulling him even _closer._ Dean couldn't breathe.

"Dean", Cas whispered in his ear, urgently. "Can we make an exception right now, because I am full of fear, and I cannot possibly tell acceptable from unacceptable anymore—"

The plane jumped up again. The lights went black, enclosing them in horrifying darkness. Dean felt Cas' lips barely touch his own, his breath brushing his opened mouth, the strong hand on his neck.

"Yeah, yeah, okay", Dean breathed.

Cas' forehead was pressing against Dean's.

"I'm going to kiss you now, Dean."

"Okay", Dean whispered.

Cas kissed Dean— _really_ kissed him—and Dean was almost passing out, though he tried not to, because holy shit, _Cas,_ and his _lips_ , Cas kissing him, kissing him, kissing him, messily, sort of clumsily, because in all of this chaos it took them forever to match their movements, and the jounce of the plain made it hard to press their lips together, but then, _then_ —

—the lights went on, and the plane suddenly balanced itself.

"AND THE WORST PART'S OVER NOW, WE NOW HAVE PASSED THE EYE OF CYNCLONE. PLEASE TRY AND STAY CALM EVERYBODY. I REPEAT, THE WORST PART IS OVER NOW", the voice of the pilot blasted out of the speakers.

With an electric thrum, even the built-in radio above their heads jumped off.

Dean shrank back, escaping to his own seat. Clutching his hammering chest, he was breathing like a friggin' asthmatic.

 _Son… of… abitch_.

All around him, people began talking. A few were even laughing, hysterically.

Gasping, Dean turned to Cas.

Cas' eyes were closed, brows furrowed, and his skin blushed, raggedly. Dean had no idea what had just happened. Weren't they supposed to be… _dead?_ Had they seriously just …? On a _plane?_

Unbelievingly, Dean's wide eyes couldn't part from Cas, and those dark curls, sticking out in every direction, and that gasping mouth. Cas' chest was lifting and lowering ever so fast. He was a complete mess, just like Dean. The hell had they just _done?_

Frightened, Dean's look shot down to his feet.

From the corner of his eye he could see Cas watching him.

Also, Cas was still clutching his hand.

"Cas", Dean croaked, not daring to look at him. "You can—let go now."

"Oh", Cas said between two breaths, releasing it. "Right."

Dean's hand hurt like a bitch, but he was too damn embarrassed to take care of that right now. Well, _embarrassed_ didn't even cut it the slightest. Jesus Christ, they were supposed to be _dead_ , not awkwardly sitting next to each other, pretending they hadn't just… and that it hadn't been…

Friggin' _planes,_ man.

* * *

"Now, that's what I call a vacation!" Gabe exclaimed, happily.

Dean and Gabe were just entering their shared room for the first time. Their two-days-home was a back-alley, no-name hostel located in a side street of the coastal town St. Tripper.

"Just look at it, Dean-o, it's so _awesome!_ The friggin' balcony, man!"

There was no stopping him as Gabe threw his suitcase on one of the beds—interesting way to own a bed—and pushed the glassy balcony door open.

"It's pretty cool", Dean commented, unemotionally, but it really _was_.

By all means, they couldn't complain. The square-shaped, well-lit room was clean, there were two separate beds, and they had their own tiny bathroom. Compared to the shabby, verminous store room that Dean had been expecting, it was actually a little piece of heaven.

Quickly done with his first look-over, Dean too stepped on the walled-in balcony where Gabe was all busy taking a thousand pictures of the sunny outlook. Dean huffed at the sight of him, because, basically, he was being the cliché tourist.

"Guess what, dude, we can _walk_ to the beach." Gabe pulled an overly-excited face and moved his cell phone to take a picture of his hand lying on the stone wall. "Like, just how cool is that?"

Dean lit up a cigarette and joint Gabe at the heated stone wall, pausing to soak in the view with its long coastline. All of the small, colorfully painted houses, the narrow streets, and the bright sky. St. Tripper definitely deserved the "R" in its name, because it couldn't at all be compared to their boring home town. Only wearing a black, light top and jeans himself, Dean could already feel himself getting sweaty.

"Yeah, it's pretty cool", Dean repeated, smiling at Gabe. "Like I just said."

"Duh, smartass."

Gabe put on his huge sunglasses and grinned at Dean proudly, looking like a giant human fly.

"Yeah, I know you're jealous, Dean-o. Don't hide it", Gabe scoffed, throwing back his non-existent mane of hair. "James Bond got nothing on me."

„Well, don't wanna ruin your illusion, but I actually just thought you're looking like a giant human—"

"Hey guys!" Lisa fluted.

She put her arms around Dean's back from behind, squeezing him, tightly. His cig nearly dropped out of his hand.

"Hey, Lis."

She placed her chin on his shoulder. "Your door stood open. Thought I'd pop in for a moment. Your room's just as nice as ours!"

"Y—yeah, it's pretty co—"

"Hey, I'm here too, you know", Gabe chimed in, fake-sadly. "But go on and hug your precious boyfriend, I'll just stand here and watch you then."

"Oh, you crybaby", she laughed, letting go of Dean.

Dean watched her punch Gabe's arm.

"Your sunglasses are pretty cool, though. Where'd you get them?"

"Oh, well, _these_ ", Gabe said, giving Dean the I-told-you-so look. "I've bought them from some Indian guy at the airport. We totally negotiated and stuff, it was a real cultural experience for me. Nice preparation for the Tolerance Day. Dean-o, however, has been busy holding up the whole flight. Well performed, too, I'd say."

With a curious expression, Lisa turned to Dean. It was only noon and already Dean was hating Gabe's guts.

"Yeah, I know. What took you two so long, Dean? Traffic jam?"

"Uh, no", Dean made, clearing his throat. "It was nothing, really. I mean, uh, of course we… _did_ kind of get stuck. Otherwise it'd be kinda weird, right? Just being late for no reason. Uh—yeah. I was late."

"Huh", Lisa made. Jokingly, she nudged Dean's shoulder. "So… does that mean you're back together?"

And there went Dean's cigarette. "Funny, Lis. Really."

"Oh, Dean", she giggled. "I'm sorry, I don't mean to make you feel awkward. _Are_ you friends again, though?"

"Yeah, well, we're talking", Dean quickly replied, scoffing. "And stuff. Hell, you make it sound like we almost made out on the plane, or something."

Lisa laughed, light-hearted. "That was scary, wasn't it? I can't say I haven't been close to kissing Meg good-bye for a moment."

"Okay", Dean coughed, blushing. "But _I_ haven't."

"Are you sure, Dean-o?" Gabe chimed in. "Because you look like—"

"Shut your face!"

"I know, Dean, jeez", Lisa giggled, patting Dean's shoulder, sympathetically. "I'm just happy that you're friends again. It was kind of weird when you weren't, to be honest. You're cute together."

Dean froze. Again, Lisa laughed.

"As friends! You're cute as _friends_ , Dean."

"Yeah", Dean scoffed, looking away. "I know. Obviously."

"Obviously", Gabe repeated, annoyingly, receiving a deadly scowl from Dean.

"Anyway", Lisa suddenly said, smiling, as if remembering a good joke. Winking at Dean, she opened a few buttons of her floral blouse. "I wanted to show you something, Dean. Look, my new bikini! Isn't it pretty?"

She showed off her silver, skimpy bathing-dress to Dean, her ample breasts nearly touching her collar bones. Even though Gabe couldn't see any of it, her bikini action was actually kind of embarrassing.

"Yeah, it's really… it fits you", Dean commented, awkwardly. "Nice."

 _"Nice?"_ Gabe repeated, brows shooting up. "I bet it looks pretty damn _hot_. Let me take a look and I'll give you my professional opinion, Lisa."

"Shut up, Gabe", Dean grunted.

"Stop it, you guys", Lisa just giggled, enjoying the male attention, buttoning up her blouse. "I just wanted to pick you up for the bus ride, not egg you up on fighting over me. The event starts at 3 p.m., remember?"

 _Ugh, right._

Dean rolled his eyes skywards.

 _The stupid stage play._

* * *

 **A/N: Thank you so much for reading, guys 3**


	14. Beaches

**Chapter 14**

The annual St. T. Tolerance Days went down in some spacious exhibition hall right in the middle of the summerly seaside town, surrounded by trimmed lawns, pseudo palm trees and a huge, unnecessary fountain. Technically, the whole _event_ seemed kind of unnecessary and dull, but oh well, that was only Dean's first impression and who cared about that, right?

Inside, the air was pleasantly air-conditioned, so that was something, and the food range was pretty decent, too. But that was about it. Truth be told, it all seemed pretty damn lame. No wonder that besides Dean's twenty-person group the hall was solely flooded with other helpless school classes, a few disoriented retirees and a reasonable amount of highly motivated political activists. The booths were so colorful it hurt Dean's eyes.

After two hours of free-time, during which they'd been supposed to "take a look around or let it be" (today really wasn't Mr. White's day), Dean and Gabriel got under way to their so-called _drama group_ 's venue at the very end of the hall.

Well, _they_ , for one, had definitely taken a look around. If sunbathing, smoking outside and stuffing themselves with fast food counted, that was.

"Dean, Gabriel, why don't you sit down with us. We were just reading out the script for the first time. It's called 'The New Boy'. I know it isn't a very creative name, but I've been forced to write it for the contest, even though I hardly even get paid for teaching Chemistry", Mr. White grumbled, holding a small cardboard box out to them. "Sometimes I wonder what I went to college for. But, anyway. Now, draw your numbers, so we can factor you two in."

Dean and Gabe exchanged an unsteady glance, before Dean went ahead and picked a folded paper chip. It said 'boy 4'. Yeah, whatever that meant.

The two of them sank into uncomfortable plastic chairs, clustering round the white conference table, where one half of their class had already gathered. Smiling, Kevin handed out a copy to them, which of course Gabe snatched, immediately. With a shrug, Dean leaned back and crossed his arms above his head, while Gabe was excitedly searching the text for his first scene. Mr. White gave an indifferent wave of his hand, and the others commenced their scripted dialogue, haltingly. Inwardly, Dean prepared himself for a long-ass afternoon.

"I'm the effing _lead_ , Dean-o", Gabe whispered. "Awesome."

Dean rolled his eyes. "Yeah, congrats. 'S gonna look great on your CV, man. Played the lead role on some stupid sketch written by Mr. White. Impressive."

Dean had every right to be pissed-off. This whole thing was a pointless drag, and Dean didn't understand why he even had to be here. Hiding in their room, _that_ was where he truly wanted to be.

"Your ass is impressive", Gabe grumbled, scowling.

"Thanks. I know."

Then, Gabe graciously decided to just let Dean be, and turned to follow the read out text attentively with his finger. Dean raised his eyebrows. Gabe was taking this shit damn serious, the only question was why. Probably, Dean figured, he was feeling _chosen_ now or something.

Uninterested, Dean gave a bored yawn, and let his lazy eyes go for a stroll around the table. Nope, no one was looking back at him. Apparently, they had all mutated to professional actors now, even if the script really sucked. So far, the play was all about some guys picturing their new classmate whom they only knew the name of. Of course, it had to be an Arabic one. So original.

Well, it was all the same for Dean anyway, because he had just spotted a big glass bowl filled to brimming with delicious cookies, not very far from Gabe's seat. So, inappropriately loud, Dean moved it across, and receiving another deadly glance from the much-admired actor next to him.

When one of his classmates started stammering, Dean sighed and settled back. In his head, he calculated the hours until he would be back in his safe hotel room. Daydreaming, he was casually throwing a cookie into his mouth, when all of a sudden something made him grow stiff.

A strange _prickle_ in his neck, almost like a _burning._

Irritated, Dean looked over his shoulder—and nearly choked on the crumbs.

Amongst the walking crowd, the sloppily dressed, still-standing figure of Cas brought the distant scenery to a sudden stop, if only to Dean's eyes. Cas' stare went around the passing people, _through_ them, and was directly fixed on Dean. All surroundings grew hazy as Cas became the only notable thing in his vision. Dean's mouth fell open.

What was Cas doing? What was—

An urgent touch on his arm made Dean's head swirl around.

He blinked at Gabe.

„Your turn", Gabe said, pointing at the script lying in front of him.

Dean just looked back over his shoulder. Cas was gone.

"Uhm, hello?" Gabe laughed. „Are you high?"

Dean absently noticed everyone at the table staring at him. He nodded and swallowed, the cookie finally leaving his dried-out mouth. Raising an eyebrow, Gabe tapped a certain line which Dean vaguely identified as 'boy 4's text.

"Hello." Dean's voice failed, and he coughed. "Hello, Abdul, I'm insert name. Uh, I—I mean, I'm Dean. Nice to meet you. We're all very, uh, different people."

Dean turned around again. Did Cas friggin' disappear?

"Hey, _Dean_." Gabe squinted at him. „So, what's so different about you?"

„Uhm, well." Dean's look returned to the script. Gabe tapped his part again. "Well, Abdul. I'm not very special, but since you're already asking. There, uh, there's indeed something different about me. I'm b… b… uhm. What?"

Dean went beet-red.

„Please stick to the script, Dean", Mr. White yawned. "And try a little harder, would you. Go on."

Dean rubbed his neck. „Right, uh. Bi… sexual."

"Are you always speaking in keywords?" Mr. White said, bored. "Full sentences, please. We're trying to rehearse here, not throw some random words out there."

Dean closed his eyes. "I'm friggin' bisexual."

"Now, try again, without swearing, please."

"I'm bisexual. Dammit."

"Try again."

"Oh, for Christ's sake, I'm bisexual."

"And once more."

"I'm _bisexual!"_

Startled, everyone at the table looked up, staring at Dean.

Crap.

"I'm bisexual", Dean repeated, muttering, sheepishly.

"That's—cool", Gabe went on, eyeing him, suspiciously. "You're so straight forward, _Dean._ But, just to get the message, does that mean you try to", he snorted, waving his hand, apologetically. "Sorry, sorry, I'm serious. Does that mean you're into threesomes? What, I'm only reading the text here, blame Mr. White!"

"Uh—no?" Dean stuttered, reading. "Not necessarily. Threesomes are a sexual practice. Whereas _bisexuality_ is a sexual orientation. And I, a bisexual—oh, come on. What kind of script is this, really?"

Mr. White sighed, head in his hands. "Dean, just do us a favor and read on."

With an eye roll, Dean returned to the text. His heart was racing. "And I, a friggin' bisexual, would know about that, wouldn't I? But I want _everyone_ to know that being friggin' bisexual only means feeling attracted to both genders, and nothing else."

Mr. White groaned, dramatically.

"That's right", Kevin, 'boy 2', awkwardly chimed in. "Thank you for the explanation. Dean, like everyone else, is welcome to the community. We're all very colorful people. Isn't that right… _Dean?"_

"Yes. Very, uh, colorful", Dean read, reluctantly. „Yeah… so, Abdul. Have you known that… that… I'm sorry, Mr. White, but what's the point of this?"

Gabe frowned at Dean. _"Dude."_

Mr. White looked up, exhausted, taking off his glasses. "The point is, Dean, to simply go through the text without interruption, so that tomorrow, we can—"

"Yeah, I don't see it", Dean said, getting up. "I don't see the point."

Everyone was staring at him, speechless.

"Sit down, Dean."

"No, thanks. You know, why don't _you_ read my part instead, Mr. White? Yeah, that's right. How would _you_ feel, telling everyone you're friggin' bisexual?"

Mr. White started massaging his temples. "I would feel fine, because this is nothing but a boring script, for a pointless contest, and the identities of these roles do not apply to any of you, because, surprise, surprise, it is a _script."_

"There!" Dean yelled, winningly. "You said it yourself, it's pointless!"

"Dean—"

"I don't know about you, but I'm outta here."

Decidedly, Dean turned around.

Cas was nowhere to be seen.

"All right", Mr. White groaned. "Just come back when you're done with your identity crisis. Your role is important."

"Oh, you mean _your_ role."

"Just come back. Christ."

"Yeah, sure", Dean scoffed, and got going.

 _Never in a thousand years._

* * *

„And then!"

Gabe broke out in hysterical laughter, laughing down every single conversation going on around the lambent bonfire.

„Then he, like, blushed so fucking hard, I thought he was going to burst or something! Like a ripe-ass tomato! And then, he, oh God." Gabe shook with laughter, his voice reaching a disturbingly high level. "Then he was all like, _what the hell is this_ , and Mr. White told him to… you know… the way he _stuttered_ , guys! _Help, I can't deal with myself anymore or something_ , and—"

Gabe paused to wipe away his tears.

"—and then he kind of… ran away… Oh, jeez. I can't go on, sorry. It's too damn hilarious. I can't do it. Can someone take over, please?"

"Yeah, Gabe, I don't think anyone cares", Dean grumbled, embarrassed, drawing lines in the sand with his bare foot.

Lisa, who was sitting next to Dean on the overturned tree trunk, just smiled a bleak smile and took a sip on her beer bottle. Ever since Gabe had started his stupid narration she'd gone all silent and strangely passive, only watched the starry night sky and troubled ocean with an unreadable expression. Dean didn't like it one bit. She really didn't need to know more about his embarrassing exit earlier. In fact, _no one_ needed to.

"Well, _I_ do!" Gabe exclaimed, holding out his hands. "I care a whole damn lot about it, 'cause it was just _perfect!_ One of your best moments, Dean-o. I mean, all right, hands down. That one time when you've puked all over your—"

"Gabe", Dean groaned, massaging his temples. „Just shut up already."

„—will always be the best one, _but_." He paused for effect. „It was just nice to see that you're still trying, dude. You've always been one of the ambitious ones. Lisa must be really proud of you. Well, _I'm_ definitely proud. Are _you_ proud, Dean-o? Since you've come out today and all?"

Finally, Lisa sighed. "Stop it, Gabe. It was just a stage play, you child. No one's calling you Abdul, either, right? So don't mock him like that, it's not funny. I think you've missed the point of the whole day."

She took another sip and fell silent again, while some more of their classmates were arriving at the warming fire, carrying an old-fashioned radio.

Gabe only shrugged at her words, adding to the uncomfortable silence. Dean wasn't sure whether to feel relieved or even more nervous. Things were _so_ not cool between him and Lisa, hadn't been for so long. Most of the time he somehow managed to block it out, like so many other things, but right now he felt it, clearly. But as always, he did not know how to solve it.

Gabe gave it a shot.

" _Anyway_ ", Gabe began, awkwardly. "Hope you're feeling better now, dude. Maybe you've been kind of sick after all, who knows. Sudden cramps or something. Are you… feeling better?"

Dean gave him a doubtful look, and Gabe answered with a helpless expression. This was bull-shit. Dean had had enough of the beach, the people, the damn trip. Maybe it was just time to call it a day. Intended or not, Gabe's question was the perfect means of escape.

"Yeah, actually no", Dean replied. "Still feelin' pretty poor and stuff. Think I was kinda sun-struck or something. Guess I should just go to bed now. It's been a long day and all." Dean faked a yawn, inwardly cringing at his horrible acting. "You got the room key, man?"

Automatically, Gabe fished it out of his pocket.

"You're leaving?" Lisa looked up at him, sulkily. "Well, get well soon."

"Sorry, Lis", Dean said, struggling. "I know you wanted to spend the evening with me here, but I just… I'm just not feeling it right now."

"Okay. Sure, Dean. It's not like I've been looking forward to being here with you for months or anything. You just leave me here. You know, it's fine. After all, you're not _feeling it."_

Dean looked down at his feet. "Lis, I'm sorry."

"Well, I'm sorry, too."

Dean stood up, slowly, tucked the key away in his jeans and—in hindsight he had no idea why he'd taken that for the most appropriate thing to do—weirdly rumpled up Lisa's long, sleeked hair. She didn't react, just waited it out until he was done. Then she took another sip.

 _Yeah,_ Dean thought. _Good moment to leave indeed._

* * *

He got under way off the remote bonfire place, leaving Lisa and Gabe to themselves.

Stomping through the white, luminous sand, Dean heard the music being turned on far behind his back. The folksy, simple guitar riffs were resounding across the wide beach, and as Dean was walking there all alone in the moonlight, so very self-aware, he got the strange feeling that this was the way he'd always end up. Walking alone, while everyone had a good time.

The thing was he didn't even _want_ to go back there. He was fine, just making his way through the deserted darkness, the chill breeze letting his loose top flutter in the wind, giving him goosebumps. Pretty humbled, unbeloved and worthless, he felt, but still fine. _Normal._

Finally, the golden street lights appeared in his view. He was approaching the grass covered dunes and the stony path leading back to the nighttime town, when he spotted an isolated scheme crouching in the dunes, a mere shade, just as lonely as Dean was.

 _Hopefully not some perverted creep_ , Dean thought, forcing himself to stare at the street lights, the sand rinsing at his bare feet, anywhere else, as he came nearer and nearer to the ominous shadow.

"Hello, Dean."

Dean stopped, abruptly.

As if he had known all along, it turned out to be no less than goddamn _Cas_ who was crouching in the sand all by himself like a stranded hermit.

Cas wore an idle glance, and was absently rubbing his arms, that were holding his crouched legs in place. Dean thought of the morning he had found Cas sitting alone on his doorstep. He had looked just as downcast as he did now.

They locked eyes, and Dean found his own dark feelings somehow mirrored in Cas' gloomy look.

"You don't like the music?" Cas asked.

"No", Dean heard himself answer. "Not really my jam."

He forced a laugh, but Cas just nodded.

Dean couldn't help it. "What are you doing here, Cas? If you wanna see some naked skin, you gotta come back tomorrow. Y'know, when there are actually… people around."

"Oh, it's fine", Cas replied, abstractedly. "I don't mind being alone. Sometimes I just like being away from people. They can be quite nerve-wrecking at times, can't they. And other times… I just don't have anyone, I guess. Even if I don't feel like being alone. So, all in all, whether or not I like it doesn't really matter."

"Yeah", Dean said, shrugging. "That's… true, I guess."

"It is", Cas emphasized. "I just wish things were different."

Cas turned his head, looking up at Dean, sad-eyed.

"But this wish, as common as it is, has never brought any human forward."

Dean smiled, compassionately. "Yeah, we always want what we can't have. And once we have it—boom. We don't care about it anymore."

"I can't imagine not caring about you, Dean", Cas said, without hesitation, turning back at the ocean.

Dean's knees almost gave in. _Dammit._ He pointed at a grassy spot in the sand, next to Cas. "Mind if I take a seat?"

"Not at all", Cas said, surprised. "I just…"

"What?" Dean asked, sitting down in the prickly grass.

Cas studied his face, unemotionally, and, feeling insecure, Dean couldn't help but look back.

"I just thought that after what happened today, between the two of us, you wouldn't want to talk to me anymore."

"Oh, that", Dean said, blushing, drawing lines in the sand with his finger. "You mean our little plane incident? Or when you went all poltergeist on me back in the exhibition hall?"

"Both", Cas said, regretting, after a while of silent frowning.

"Good, because first of all", Dean said, counting with his fingers. "What happened on the plane, stays on the plane."

"Ah", Cas made. "You mean like in the so-called 'mile high club'. I've heard about it on television."

Dean blinked. He cleared his suddenly tight throat. "Uh, technically, yeah. Though we would've needed to do a little more to become members of that one, than just… kissing."

Cas turned to Dean, curious, eyes lighting up a little bit. "'Getting it on', right? We would have to 'get it on' on an air plane. Wow. I'm becoming really good at these 'slangs', don't you think."

"Yeah, amazing", Dean agreed, awkwardly. "But anyway. All I'm saying, Cas—don't beat yourself up about it. I was there too, you know. Takes two people for that."

"I guess it does", Cas said, gloomily.

"And besides", Dean went on, hesitating. "I wanted it, you know. Kiss you, or whatever."

Cas suddenly lifted his head, looking as if Dean had just proposed booking a ski holiday for the two of them after all. "But you said it was—"

"Unacceptable, yeah, Cas, I know", Dean gave back, struggling to maintain the eye contact. "I talk a lot of bull-shit if the day is long, y'know. I mean—"

Dean hectically gestured between the two of them.

"—what do you think _this_ is, Cas? Do you think this is me not wanting to be with you? Do you think this is me thinking you're… unacceptable? Dammit, Cas, the line between acceptable and unacceptable things only exists just so I don't end up jumping your bones in the middle of math class, or wherever, really! We can't do that, y'know! We just _can't!"_

For a moment, Cas just sat there, open-mouthed. It took everything in Dean not to spontaneously bury himself in the sand all around them.

"You", Cas began, speechless. "You _want_ me, too, Dean?"

"Hell, yeah, I want you, Cas!" Dean exclaimed, angrily. "But like I said, to quote Mick Jagger, you can't always get what you want."

Cas nodded, still fairly amazed. " _The Rolling Stones._ I've seen you wear their t-shirts."

"Well, did you check 'em out?" Dean asked, not knowing what else to say.

"Of course", Cas replied, a little proudly. "And I can see why you like them. They're very…" Cas paused, pondering, and eventually smiled. "They're very _you."_

"Yeah", Dean rasped, smiling, shyly. He scratched his cheek. "Yeah, they're awesome. Like me."

"That's true", Cas agreed, sweetly.

At the sight of Cas' little smile, Dean's mind went entirely blank, and for a few minutes neither of them said anything, Cas just sitting there, kind of contently, holding his knees, smilingly glancing up at Dean every now and then, and Dean slowly but surely getting all too warm inside, and damn, what the hell—why did things have to be so friggin' complicated. He thought of _Take it or Leave it,_ heard the melody playing in his head, and he thought of Bobby's words from last week.

"So…" Cas spoke up, quietly. "What do we do, Dean?"

"Well, earlier I've found an ice cream shop downtown that's open 24/7."

"No, I mean—"

Dean looked at him, gravely. "I know what you mean, Cas."

Cas looked down, smiling, sadly. "So, what do you suggest?"

"Chocolate", Dean said, puckering his lips. "Strawberry, maybe, if I'm feeling experimental."

Cas' sad smile burst into adorable giggles. "Dean—"

"I've heard that ice-cream shack is known for its kick-ass banana split, so maybe I'll better go for that. But what do _you_ suggest, Cas?"

Giggling, Cas' forehead gently landed on Dean's shoulder, and automatically, Dean put an arm on Cas' back, smiling himself. Making Cas laugh like that, after finding him here looking so depressed earlier, felt simply amazing. Having Cas so near, and feeling his breath on his neck, was giving Dean goosebumps all over.

When Cas mindlessly copied Dean's movement, and also rested his arms on Dean's back, suddenly the two of them found themselves hugging, crouching in the sand, surrounded by darkness and the chill ocean breeze. Cas stopped giggling at some point, but neither of them made a move to back off.

Dean knew that this wasn't quite _taking_ it, but it wasn't exactly _leaving_ it, either. Right now, it definitely was feeling more like the former, especially when Cas was now hugging Dean tighter, cautiously, testing the waters, and all Dean did in reaction was decidedly pull Cas closer to his chest.

He knew he couldn't go on like this forever, telling Cas one thing, but doing the other. He couldn't go on playing with his feelings like that, without making a decision. But when Cas was being like that—adorable, cuddly, amazing—Dean couldn't just cut himself loose.

Lisa's sudden voice, however, worked like a knife.

"Dean?" She called, sounding surprised.

Gasping, Dean backed off, holding onto Cas' shoulders.

The second before he turned to look for her, Dean saw something in Cas' eyes that would most likely keep him up all night—profound, undeniable _love._

Walking up to them, Lisa was wearing nothing but her silver bikini, long hair wildly blowing in the breeze.

"Oh, hello, Mr. Novak…"

She faltered, coming to a stop in front of Dean, who was shakily getting to his feet.

"I thought you went to your room? Not feeling it and all that?"

Probably it was only Dean's overly active brain, but he couldn't help but notice a slight notion of suspicion resonating her voice. _For how long exactly has she been there?_

Startled, Dean blurted out the next best thing that came to his mind. "I felt—better. Mircale healing or something. So, felt it after all, I guess. Weird, huh? But, uh, now at least you don't have to walk back alone, so."

Dean grabbed for her hand, but she just glared at him, taking a step back.

 _"Felt it after all, I guess"_ , she repeated, imitating his voice. "Listen to yourself, Dean."

"Yeah, well, Cas and me, we've been", Dean said, looking down at Cas for inspiration. Cas was looking back at him, frowning. "We've been viewing the ocean together."

"And Dean hugged me", Cas added, helpfully.

" _You_ hugged me", Dean retorted, baffled.

"We hugged each other", Cas concluded, giving Lisa an apologetic smile.

"O—kay", Lisa replied, awkwardly. She crossed her arms. "So, Dean, do you want to walk me back to the hotel, or do you want to keep checking off the list with the things I've originally planned for the two of us to do here?"

"Walk you back", Dean quickly said. "Obviously."

"That's nice of you", she replied. Dean wasn't sure if she was being sarcastic. "Let's go then, before Gabriel comes back."

Before Dean knew it, she gave him a forceful peck on the lips.

"Maybe I'll manage to make you _feel it_ , too."

Dean wanted to curl up and die. Mostly, because he felt Cas' stare poking his neck.

"Y—yeah, uhm. Maybe."

Winking, she dragged him on the soft sand, already beginning to gossip about some dramatic event that Dean had missed at the bonfire, but he did not listen. Again and again, he looked back over his shoulder, only to find Cas still watching him, thoughtfully. Lisa was cackling like a goose, and Dean forced a smile every now and then, not hearing anything she was saying, though.

Like a catchy song, Cas' words were playing on and on in his head:

 _So… what do we do?_


	15. Beeping

**Chapter 15**

In the depths of night, Dean made a decision.

It didn't come easy—oh, hell no.

But after being kept awake all night by the darn melody of a song, stuck in his head like a cracked, hung-up CD, Dean didn't know how else to end this nightmare but by listening really closely, giving it a lot of thought and eventually coming up with something to break the cycle.

Alright, granted—staying awake because of a _song_ might sound a little crazy, and yeah, it probably didn't happen to a lot of people indeed. Dean, however, tossing and turning in his crumpled-up hotel bed, bathed in sweat at three in the morning, could tell you a thing or two about it. It felt a little bit like being put on hold, in the midst of an important talk, and then being forced to listen to the endless wait loop going on and on and on, out-and-out annoying, upsetting, but still kind of gripping.

Ever since Lisa had left earlier—after going through just another sexual failure with Dean—, Dean just hadn't been able to get his mind off… the _music._

Whatever he did, pacing back and forth on the narrow balcony, smoking cigarette after cigarette until his painful coughs began to sound dangerously like Joe Cocker warming up before singing, he just couldn't get rid of it. The stupid words, the dumb tune, the foreseeable rhymes. The magic of bad song-writing.

Only in reality, when Dean stopped fooling himself, that _certain_ song didn't sound bad at all. It actually had something very, very alluring about it, and as he lay in bed, staring at the dark ceiling with his eyes open, hours passing like minutes, the sound only kept getting better. At some point he wasn't even tired anymore. His mind was set on overdrive. And—even if at three in the morning the worst ideas did—it started to actually _make sense._

And—of course—it wasn't just _some_ song caught in Dean's head, but a pretty catchy number called "So what do we do" by the infamous newcomer Castiel Novak. Featuring Gabe's wall-shaking snoring, it truly was an all-nighter.

 _That much_ , Dean thought, lying grim-faced on the squeaky mattress in his red plaid boxer shorts, _is pretty damn clear_.

 _So, he's pretty much crazy about me,_ Dean turned their conversation over in his mind for the millionth time that night. _But am_ I _crazy enough yet? Am I crazy enough to… take it? Or leave it, for that matter?_

Well, remembering the softness, the warmth of Cas' lips, his maddening indulgence, and the hot breath tickling Dean's skin, or the way he'd grabbed his neck on the plane, how he really _couldn't control himself_ , and fuck, the delicate blush embellishing his puzzled face afterwards, those messy dark curls and the sound of his heavy breathing, no, yes, absolutely, in a fraction of a second would Dean take it. But maybe he wouldn't have to keep it. Because…

Jesus _Christ_. Gabe's obscenely loud snoring managed to rip apart Dean's train of thought once again. Dean reached over to jolt Gabe's sleeping body.

" _Gabe._ Shut the fuck up, man."

With a deep sigh, Gabe rolled over, showcasing his tanned back to Dean, and at least for a short moment there was some silence.

Dean caught a breath and folded his arms under his lying head, sourly staring at the white-painted, friable ceiling. So, where had we got to? Oh, right. So, maybe Dean wouldn't have to keep it.

Perhaps, if Dean went for it again, all it'd do would be to kind of break the spell, and just maybe, both of them would finally be able to get on with their lives: as friends, neighbors, whatever, just not... _that_.

Hopefully it wasn't just due to his lack of sleep, or the unfortunate late-night hours playing tricks on his mind, but that possibility was actually sounding legit right now. The only question was if Dean had the guts to make a move on Cas again, and kiss him, quickly, just to get it over with. The sheer thought of it made Dean's empty stomach convulse. But if there was a perfect place to dare kissing Cas again, then this had to be it. It _had_ to happen here.

Far away from home.

Afterwards, they'd just leave it all at this place.

It'd be finally off his mind—their minds—and they'd both realize that it all wasn't worth the fuss. That their… _thing_ … was nothing but some kind of weird mind-fuck. And then, Dean would somehow return to his old self.

Yeah.

That sounded realistic.

* * *

"So, dude, what do you want."

Gabe grinned, and obtrusively leaned over Dean's beach chair, blocking out the hot afternoon sun. Gabe was supporting himself against his own hairy knees, and Dean thought about how easy it'd be to simply push him into the sand with a strong and effective kick of his leg.

"Chocolate or strawberry?"

He had no idea why, but Gabe's seemingly harmless question made Dean feel uncomfortably hard-pressed.

"Do I look like I care?" Dean asked, pointing at his blank face with one thumb. "It's _your_ money, so do whatever you want with it, man."

"Uh, excuse me?" Gabe chuckled, raising one brow. "A few minutes ago you were all like _fuck off I wanna sleep, you kept me up all night_ and boo-hoo and shit. Now I wanna make it up to you—"

He tapped the pocket of his yellow bathing trunk, where the shape of his purse stood out.

"—'cause that's just how nice I am, and all you do is bitch around." He scoffed, remembering the most important part. "And I don't even _snore_ , so you're acting twice weird. Well, maybe I do a little, but more like a cute little cat, you know? I purr at worst, Dean-o, know the effing difference, okay. You're totally being a sissy about it, seriously."

"Woah, Hold on."

Dean bobbed up from his lying position, leaning onto his lower arms.

"Hold on there, buddy. First of all, you _do_ , big time. Otherwise I guess you should go see a doctor soon, 'cause if I'm wrong then you're in serious danger of being the first human motor boat. Secondly—"

Dean paused, thinking of something snarky to say about Gabe's ugly-ass shorts, but the sight of Gabe's widening grin kind of ruined the process. Gabe snorted, soon broke out in hysterical laughter like he always did, and Dean, as grumpy as he was, couldn't suppress a laugh himself. Sometimes their conversations were just too ridiculous.

Dean fell back into his chair, relieved to skip over any kind of teasing crosstalk. At worst, he'd only end up accidentally saying something Cas-related.

"Fuck off, I wanna sleep", Dean said in a high-pitched voice, imitating Gabe's horrible impersonation of himself.

"Alright, alright", Gabe giggled. "You won this time. Jeez, you're gonna be the death of me, I swear. Now, just. Just answer my question, and I promise I'll let you have your beauty sleep. C'mon, Dean-o. _Chocolate_ or _strawberry?_ "

"Ugh, fine", Dean groaned. "I really don't care. But in view of you finally pissing off, I'll say… chocolate?"

"That's your answer?"

The malicious flash in Gabe's look was pretty disturbing.

"Uh. Yes."

"I knew it."

"Knew what?" Dean barked, even though he pretty much knew exactly what Gabe was getting at… again.

Earlier, back at the exhibition hall, they'd been forced to act out their awful stage play as part of some dumb competition in front of a friggin' _jury_ , friggin' _Cas_ , and about a hundred curious bystanders that hadn't been shy to boo at them. It'd been the most humiliating thing ever, and of course Gabe would mock Dean with his lousy performance on every occasion, even though this _ice-cream_ thing did seem a little too far-fetched.

"Oh, nothing. I just knew that you secretly prefer chocolate. But hey, I get it, Dean-o. Nice and sturdy. No frills. You don't need to buy them jewelry, or constantly tell them how pretty they are."

"I don't know what you're talkin' about", Dean grumbled, feeling his face getting unnecessarily hot. "But then again, when do I ever."

"Uh, how about always? We're soulmates, remember? I thought we were meant for each other!"

"I hate you."

"Aw. I hate you too, my AC/DC friend!"

Going off, Gabe's cheerful voice snapped across the hilly, heated sand, making a few of their nearby classmates and a couple of lightly clad strangers turn their heads in confusion. Fairly annoyed, Dean closed his eyes and shook his head.

Above his head, the sky stretched in open spaces, only interrupted by a single scattered cloud and a few noisy seagulls drawing circles in the blue. Dosing off, Dean vaguely heard his name being called and let his lazy eyes wander along the sea, its wavy surface flickering like a broken TV.

He found Lisa standing waist-deep in the clear turquoise water, waving at him in her skimpy silver bikini. Just like yesterday, it was barely covering the necessities—not like that was a bad thing.

Greeting back, Dean gave a short nod.

Laughingly, she turned her black-haired head to Dean, showing off her most gorgeous, white-teethed smile, as if they were trouble-free or something.

One of her girlfriends decided to end the show with a splash of cold water in her face. The sound of her high-pitched shriek forced a smile upon Dean's lips. It didn't feel any good, though. A strange wave of nostalgia rushed over Dean as he watched her, washing him away to a time when he'd actually been madly in love with that girl. He _had_ been, right? Hell, what was love, anyway?

A sudden, all-drowning plop made Dean's attention sway a few footsteps to the right.

The sight that was presenting itself there made him forget about Lisa in a matter of seconds.

It was Cas, appearing within a flood of water in the ocean.

As he stood up, sluggishly, he was revealing more of his skin than Dean had ever dreamed to see.

Dripping wet, only wearing some old-fashioned, moss-green bathing trunk, Cas' dark curls were sticking to his head in soaked wisps. Not distorting him though. Anything but that. The way he was shaking his dripping hair, and not forgetting the scruffy beard—well, it was the most delicious thing.

Dean couldn't help but stare.

The water was reflecting from Cas' exposed body like a million tiny highlights, making his broad chest and flat stomach shine and look even more appealing. Friggin' _angelic._ By no means was Cas ripped or anything—and considering Cas' lifestyle Dean had no idea how that would have worked—but he didn't _need_ to be, he was looking perfectly _soft_ and strong in all the right places, and by God, his friggin' hipbones.

Jesus Christ, like some _sea god_ and—

Yeah, scratch that.

What was he…?

It looked like he… Oh, of course.

He was picking seaweed out of his hair. Large, slimy strands. Even from the distance, Dean could spot a deep frown appear on Cas' face as he examined his find. A moment later, he simply let it drop out of his hands, 'cause it probably wasn't all that interesting after all, and continued his way out of the flat water.

As Dean got an even closer look of half-naked Cas, his heart staggered in his chest, even while Cas suddenly tripped over something on the wet sand, and nearly stumbled over his own leg while balancing.

 _And_ , Dean realized in horror, _now would be a good moment to stop friggin' staring, or else you're gonna have to deal with the embarrassment of—_

"Oh, hello, Dean."

Cas smiled, approaching him.

"Are you enjoying the sun?"

"H—hi, Cas", Dean stuttered, contorting his lips into a guilty smile. "Yeah, I am actually. On my little _Island In The Sun._ Heh. _"_

"That's good. Get some rest, Dean", Cas approved. Suddenly, his tone was weirdly conspiratorial. "Or are you looking for 'some naked skin'?"

Dean nearly swallowed his tongue, and his look awkwardly got caught on Cas' crotch. "Uh—no? Totally just… lying here. Hip, hip—or whatever."

"I've used your words from yesterday", Cas explained, proudly. "Did you notice, Dean?"

"Yeah. Yeah,well played, Cas."

"To be honest, I don't even know what 'looking for some naked skin' means, but I appreciate how casual it sounds. 'Some naked skin'."

"Okay", Dean awkwardly commented, unable to get his eyes off Cas' package. "Yeah, it's… pretty big, ain't it."

Cas frowned. "Big? Is this another one of your pop-culture references, Dean?"

"Uh, what now?" Dean winced, finally managing to look Cas in the eyes. "Yeah, uh, it's a reference to… uh…"

Dean's mind was blank. Cas just kept frowning, eyes turning into confused slits.

Finally, Dean just gestured Cas up and down. "You're looking good."

"Oh, thank you, Dean", Cas said, smiling down at his feet. "That's very nice of you. And I have to say, I am quite fond of the clothing you chose to wear today. Your white top really brings out your eyes."

"Oh, that", Dean coughed, tugging at it. "Yeah, it's pretty cool, right. Bought it downtown earlier. Unfortunately, I've only realized like an hour ago that it's kinda transparent and shows off my… uh… nipples."

Dean flushed. What the hell was he saying.

"Ah, yes", Cas simply replied, weirdly casual. "I've noticed that, too. That's why I like it."

Why the hell.

"Uh, yeah", Dean made, flustered, feeling the weird urge to cover his chest. "So, not because of my stunning eyes after all, huh."

"Yes. That, too. It's a very flattering piece of clothing, I'd say."

"Okay—okay, thanks. I guess. Didn't know you were such a ladykiller, Cas."

For a good while, Cas just frowned. "I don't understand", he then said. "Where did you get the idea of me being a murderer, Dean? I'm afraid I couldn't quite catch this clever change of topic."

"It's", Dean stammered, staring at his own feet. "It's just a word, Cas. Y'know. For someone who's good at… y'know… picking up women? Or, well, me. In this case."

"Oh", Cas made, falling quiet for another moment. " _Oh_. Now, I see what you did there. I'll admit, you had me worried there for a moment, Dean. I'm only figuratively 'killing' the 'ladies'. With my masculine attributes and my manly charm."

"Uh… yeah", Dean agreed, trying really hard not to check out Cas' _masculine attributes_ again. "There you are, Sherlock. Another case successfully solved."

A few awkward seconds passed—the two of them got into some kind of accidental staring-contest—until Dean pulled away to shyly stare at the sand instead. He felt Cas' insecure look all over him. Trying to get his shit together, Dean forced himself to look up, meaning to make some random remark about the weather, when yesterday's words suddenly forced themselves upon his mind for the millionth time.

 _So… what do we do?_

Dean was already pointing at the sky, but only managed to spit out a few letters before pathetically choking on his own saliva like the greatest idiot on the planet.

Cas tilted his head slightly, worried.

When Dean was done coughing his lungs out, he finally managed to deliver his important message.

"Nice… weather."

Cas' strained face softened, immediately. "Yes, I agree." Cas looked skywards, giving a wide, heartfelt smile, as if he'd never seen anything as beautiful before. "That's what I love about this region. Unlike to where we come from, the weather here is great throughout the entire year, I've heard."

Cas paused to take a deep, relishing breath. Dean wasn't listening anyway, because all he could do was watch Cas' mouth. His full lips were probably salty right now.

"The water is great, too. Inviting for the one or other swim. It's truly fun, Dean, you should try it later. Very refreshing indeed. Mind the jelly fishes, though, I've heard some of them might sting." Cas chuckled, rubbing his beard. "I actually just slipped on one, so it's safe to say, that…"

Semi-listening, Dean continued his study of those talking lips, forming words, interacting with Cas' tongue. Cas was raving about the pros and cons of swimming or something. Dean didn't know, and he really didn't care.

Would he have the guts to _take it?_

That was the matter.

Did it still seem as _right?_

Well, it never really had. Could be the worst thing to do. But those lips in front of Dean were an exceptionally beautiful specimen of their kind after all. You couldn't blame him for wanting to kiss them again. Except that he didn't per se _want to_ , of course, it was just that according to plan he simply _had to._

"Dean."

Cas' voice tore him out of his reasoning.

"Do I, uh", Cas stumbled, running a finger over his bottom lip, unsteadily. Dean had to violently force himself to stop watching. "Do I have something in my face? Maybe a piece of seaweed, I, uh, found some of it in my hair earlier."

"What? No." Dean cleared his throat. „No, nothing. Your face is fine. Listen, Cas", he blabbed, and before second-guessing, just asked. „What are you doing later?"

Cas was mildly staggered. "Well, I—I, uh, thought I'd finish my book, and then go to sleep. The hotel bed is very comfortable, and I have to say that I am quite fond of sleeping."

Dean nodded, absently. „Sounds good. Really good."

„Yes", Cas agreed, squinting, watching him ponder over those unspectacular evening plans.

Dean had no idea what else to say without completely dripping his hand.

Smalltalk was definitely off the cards today, because hell, he couldn't even _look_ at Cas without imagining what he'd do to him later—apparently, in Cas' room now. And not to mention the fact that Cas was half-naked, which didn't make it any easier to speak.

Cas just stood, hands to the sides, obviously not understanding what was going on. His skin was already dried in most parts, Dean noticed while avoiding his eyes. At some point, seriously confused, Cas awkwardly got going.

"Goodbye, Dean." He hesitated. "Have a good evening."

"You, _you_ have a", Dean stuttered, awkwardly finger-gunning after Cas. " _You_ have a good evening."

* * *

"All right", Gabe concluded, wiping away a strand of hair from his forehead. He stood in front of their hotel room's large mirror, tugging his best t-shirt in place.

"So I'll expect you there later, then. The real party probably only starts around midnight, anyway, you know the deal with those dance clubs. So you're actually being pretty smart Dean-o. For once."

"I know", Dean yawned, forcedly, lying on his messed-up bed, while senselessly pressing buttons on his cellphone to occupy his shaky fingers. "You know what they say. The cool ones are always late."

Gabe laughed at Dean, eyeing him in the mirror. "Yeah, you're such a badass, dude. I mean, _hello,_ what's cooler than staying in your room to call your little brother, instead of coming with me to look at all those half-naked chicks?"

He grimaced, as if Dean was the most ridiculous person ever, while turning to reach for his black sneakers.

"But, whatever, man. You're married anyway, so I get why that sounds rather lame to you. Just remember", Gabe said, balancing on one foot, "that I need you to be my wing-man tonight, Dean-o."

Dean snorted, looking up from his turned-off phone. "Uh, definitely not. I'm not gonna do _that—"_

He pointed at his best friend's spruced up appearance.

"—to any girl, buddy. Sorry, but no. I don't have that kind of evil in me. You gotta wing yourself."

"Fuck off", Gabe said, tying his shoelaces and pulling a fake offended face. "Maybe I really don't need any help, asshole, 'cause I'm actually _awesome_ , you know. There are people out there who cherish my awesomeness."

He jumped on his legs, grabbed the room key and turned around in front of the door to sneer at Dean one last time.

"You'll see."

"Yeah, well", Dean said, rolling his eyes, waving at Gabe in an indifferent way. "Good luck finding them, then."

"Uh—huh."

Gabe gave Dean an estimating look, while slowly opening the door. "Thank you. Not gonna need it, though. _You_ do, though, probably. Not sure what you're really up to, but your hands are shaking like crazy."

Dean automatically folded them on his stomach.

"If you're that excited to call your little brother then you're even weirder than I thought. But, you know, I don't really care, 'cause—"

Gabe stepped outside, solemnly.

"—I'm out."

The door fell shut, and Dean slapped one palm in his face with an audible smacking noise. Was he really _that_ obvious? Friggin' hell. Anyhow—shit needed to be done. And _now_ was the time.

The plan: He'd quickly make a complete fool of himself, and afterwards hide in the dance club, getting drunk as hell to erase the shameful memory from his mind.

Dean breathed in, dropping his phone in the pocket of his brown shorts. Of course the calling-Sammy thing had been a lame pretense to get some time alone—the guy was okay, Dean figured from the lack of communication.

He got up, bobbing up and down on his tiptoes like an athlete before the run.

 _Stop freakin' out_ , Dean ordered himself, seeing his unhealthily white face in the mirror, his white stripper top not really complementing the I'm-gonna-pass-out-look, either. _It's gonna be alright_.

Dean paused to adjust his hair—not like there were that many styling possibilities for the few hair he had—and, feeling pathetic, broke away. He forced his legs to move to the door. Pressing his eyes shut, he tore it open—and found himself face to face with his destination.

„Oh, h—hi, _Cas."_

Cas was passing Dean's room in the hallway, wearing his moss-green bathing trunk and a loose dark blue t-shirt with a strange geometric imprint. Dean's voice stopped him, abruptly.

"Hello, Dean", Cas greeted back.

Cas took two blundering steps forward, and paused again in front of the diagonally opposite hotel room. He turned his head, chuckling, insecurely.

"That's my room."

Dean smiled on that, crossing his arms, while leaning against the door frame. "Neighbors again, huh? Funny coincidence."

Cas rummaged around his pockets for his key, keeping his eyes glued to Dean. He smiled back at him, laughter lines ever so striking.

"It's true, it is quite funny", he agreed, finally pulling the key out of his back pocket.

Watching Cas struggle with the door lock, Dean desperately tried to come up with another banality to say, any way to get inside for a moment. Dean had totally failed at making out the details of his plan.

Then, luckily, he remembered that this was _Cas,_ and he simply stepped next to him. There was a little thud when the tumblers gave in, causing Cas to kind of fall inside as the door sprung open.

The room, Dean vaguely perceived, was basically looking exactly like Dean's room, except that it had a big flat-screen TV attached to the wall, a beige leather couch and only one single bed standing next to the tilted balcony door. Dean didn't actually _note_ any of that, though, as he slipped in behind Cas, following him as if it was the most natural thing, because he was a friggin' live wire.

Cas flashed him a glance, slightly irritated, but didn't say anything.

* * *

"Nice room", Dean approved, awkwardly, seizing the doorknob with one sweaty hand. "The furniture's pretty cool… and, uh."

 _Crap._

Way louder than intended, Dean pushed the door shut.

For a long moment its banging sound was the only noise in the room, emphasizing their isolation, their privacy like nothing else could have done.

 _Great job_ , Dean inwardly congratulated himself on his horribly suggestive move. _So damn subtle._

Blushing scarlet, Dean listened to the never-ending echo, wishing he could somehow catch it and take it back. And goddammit, now Cas was looking at him like that, as if of all times he now _completely_ understood what Dean was up to, and that they were undisturbed and locked in a friggin' hotel room.

Cas stood, mouth-opened, eyes switching between Dean's hand on the knob and the floor, unsteadily. He looked embarrassed, _shy_ even. And that wasn't part of the plan at all. Cas wasn't supposed to be friggin' _aware_ of it.

 _Retreat._

"Uhm."

Dean crossed his arms, nodding at Cas. "So, Cas, what kind of book are you reading again?"

Cas' shy eyes tore away from Dean's hands to look at the night stand. The dog-eared book lying on top was the one from the flight.

"Oh, that. It's a new theory", Cas explained. "It, uh, questions the fundamental mathematical ideas behind the teaching of Algebra. It's a quite thrilling read, actually."

He paused to rub his chin, thoughtfully, making tiny sand grains rinse out of his beard.

"The climax was the thesis about… about… oh."

Cas frowned, holding his hand out to examine it, confusedly.

"I'm dirty. I guess I should... take a shower."

"Yeah, or just lose the dust catcher", Dean proposed, looking at Cas' ever-growing beard that he'd actually grown to like… a lot. "Pretty impressive and all, but when it comes down to it I guess you'd be better off without it."

Cas glanced at Dean, absently nodding. "Yes", he mumbled, "Maybe I will", and slowly moved into the bathroom.

The click of the door made Dean snap out of his rigidity. Startled, he took a few steps further into the room, feeling out of place, strangely forbidden, like some kind of sensitive burglar. The water started running in the bathroom, and Dean wasn't sure what to do with himself. He wouldn't leave until _it_ was done—that much was clear.

So, shrugging, Dean simply planted himself on the beige leather couch. One didn't have such a huge TV every day, after all, he figured. He might as well make the most of it—in Cas' room.

 _That escalated kinda quickly_ , he thought, mindlessly zapping through the channels while awaiting Cas' return. Lost in thoughts, Dean didn't even know what exactly he was watching, just vaguely saw the colors and lightings change, when all of a sudden Cas' voice sounded in the room again.

"That should solve the problem."

Dean jumped, head swirling around.

And holy _shit_ it did.

Dean had to check twice to really believe it.

The third time his look just got stuck on the amazingly clean, shaved, rosy-cheeked figure of Cas. He'd actually _shaved._ Dean would never have guessed he'd live to see that day. And, Jesus, his _cheekbones._ Covered with all of that thick hair all the time, Dean had somehow forgotten Cas even _had_ them, and how good they looked. Hell, no, gorgeous was more like it.

In his weird geometric t-shirt and the saggy sweatpants he'd worn yesterday, dark curls all wet and dripping, he was just looking really, really awfully pretty right now and goddammit, he definitely wasn't making it easier for Dean here.

Dean shifted on the couch, feeling heat rise up between his legs, while Cas collapsed onto the spot right next to him, looking proud of himself. And yeah, that was all very well, but as always Cas was sitting way too close, and their friggin' thighs were touching, and that wasn't helping Dean's situation at all, either.

Cas noticed Dean's stare, and raised his eyebrows. "Better?"

"Y—yeah. It's good. Good job, Cas."

Cas gave an amused huff, eyes drifting away to the ceiling. "It does feel kind of strange, though."

Cas ran his fingers over his bare jaw, while Dean just stared into space with a tense expression while turning off the TV. This time, Cas didn't seem to get it.

"It feels like… something is missing", Cas went on, musing. "Very weird, but I'm not regretting it. You were right, I'm feeling more f… free now."

Cas hesitated, noticing Dean's serious look, aiming right at him. Cas looked down at his own resting hands, blushing, slightly.

"And, uh. I think it's going to be… easier to clean now. So, thank you, Dean. For your helpful advice. I—I just need some time to get used to it again. I guess I... I…"

Dean was close. _Really_ close, but not quite there yet.

He could smell Cas' fresh, deliciously sweet smell, study every pore of his dainty, rosy cheeks, the fine fuzz above his upper lip, and the teeth lurking through his opened mouth. Dean heard him let out his breath, so very near he felt it brush his own skin.

"Dean…"

It wasn't accusation or warning and most definitely not rejection to hear in that throaty sigh.

No, to Dean's ears it sounded more like a plea.

Heart in his mouth, Dean licked his lips, drew even closer…

… and then made the mistake to check Cas' eyes one final time.

His wide pupils were fixed on Dean's in a strangely _calm_ way. That wasn't… planned. There was an upsetting kind of anticipation in them—a _sultry_ one—, as if Cas really wasn't obliging at all, not even a little bit, and Jesus Christ—that was too much.

Dean couldn't do _it_ like that. Because odds were pretty good Cas would somehow lose control of himself, and honestly, Dean was scared as hell that he'd lose it, too, that he wouldn't be able to stop.

Dean stopped dead, falling back onto his side of the couch.

"Sorry", Dean breathed, heart jumping around his chest like drunk. "Go on."

His ultimate stress habit kicked in once again as he pulled out his pack of smokes.

"You were saying, Cas?"

"I—"

Cas, adorably flushed, ran one hand through his wet hair.

"—I don't remember… what I said."

Dean stuck a cig in his mouth, fiddling with the lighter, but his hands were too damn shaky, and he couldn't manage. This was a friggin' disaster.

"Come on, Cas", Dean urged, through clenched teeth. "Just say something, 'kay? I'm sure you—"

Dean paused to take a drag when it finally burnt.

"—I'm sure you've got something to say."

"Right, uhm."

Cas was just staring at his own lap, eyes flickering to Dean, unsteadily.

"Yes. I'll say something now. I, uh… I like your hair, Dean."

Dean coughed, nearly choking on the smoke. "You what? What kind of topic is that?"

"I don't know", Cas replied, helplessly. "It's… nice that way. Shorter. Better than before. I… I just like it. I don't know what to say."

Dean felt Cas' stare rest on him, heavily.

"It looks good on you, Dean."

"Cas, just", Dean interrupted, pressing the bridge of his nose. "Just _shut up._ "

Dean's stomach curled as he lifted the cigarette to his lips, the badly desired stress relieve seriously tarrying right now. Cas kept his confused look glued to him, Dean was sensing it, clearly, and prayed hard that he wouldn't say anything more. Those clumsy compliments didn't exactly break the tension. Precisely, none of this was breaking the tension.

Maybe they really should just _sit_ , enclosed by self-made awkward silence.

But— _goddammit_ —those friggin' magnet eyes. Dean couldn't help but look back at him to see what the hell he wanted. Again, it was a horrible mistake, because Cas wasn't just staring at Dean's _eyes_ , which would have been upsetting enough, but also at his _mouth_ —the cig in it.

"You…" Dean began, holding it up, hesitatingly. "You wanna try again?"

"Yes", Cas immediately replied, not looking at the cig, though. "Please, Dean."

 _Please?_

With those eyes Cas really didn't need to beg him for anything.

Even if it meant making tiny changes in the plan, Dean knew what he had to do. As long as the outcome was the same, he figured, it didn't matter.

It was _time._

With a quick snap—done so many times it became some kind of reflex—Dean flipped the burning cigarette away.

He drew one last breath.

Then, cautiously, he reached out to place one hand on Cas' warm stomach, fingers clutching the dark blue cotton tightly as a brace, but also to find out how it felt—pretty divine.

Just like that one time in Cas' cottage, Cas grew still and uneasy at the touch. Dean thought he was even holding his breath, but didn't know for sure, because as he briefly met Cas' lips with his own, he took his breath away, anyway.

Right now, though, Dean was pretty sure a quick peck wouldn't do the trick. Mostly because those lips felt annoyingly _smooth_ , friggin' luscious, and Cas' fresh smell was muffling Dean like a warming, cuddly blanket.

Cas just allowed Dean to do his thing, and sighed, deeply, on his face. His surrender was inspiring Dean to dig his fingers into the t-shirt's fabric, and the soft skin beneath it.

The harsh movement of his fingers seemed to have its effect, because Cas' breaths got heavier, and the fact that Dean could feel his heartbeat, fast and throbbing, was even better than that sound. On top of it, Cas' hand was now searching for Dean's thigh, _seizing_ it.

Cas spoke against Dean's lips, something urgent that sounded like a simple _Dean_. No, he didn't speak it, he moaned it. And now that his lips were parted, there was the opportunity to taste him. Dean wasn't trying very hard to resist.

So, he went ahead, and let his tongue wander over Cas' dry bottom lip, receiving just another throaty sigh, and damn, he'd been right.

They _did_ taste salty.

The grip on Dean's thigh tightened, encouraging him to go even further.

And please, Cas was basically _inviting_ him to do it.

So, to hell with hesitation.

There were no complaints, not the slightest sign of drawing-back, when Dean found an entrance to the wet, salty hotness of Cas' mouth.

Cas didn't seem all too familiar with what Dean was doing, like he'd never done this before, but by no means was that a bad thing. He just went with the flow, kind of lost himself in the kiss, opening up to Dean's movements. Well, how he was caressing Dean's thigh now, going all the way up and down, it definitely wasn't an amateur's move.

So far, Dean didn't feel cured—not a scrap. But there was still hope.

Maybe he simply needed a little… _more_ of Cas.

Perhaps if he just…

… lifted Cas' t-shirt a bit, to meet the skin of his soft, warm stomach…

No, that certainly wasn't helping it, either.

Now Dean couldn't stop touching it. He gently ran his hand all the way under it, drawing small circles, brushing Cas' hard nipples, causing just another throaty sigh to escape Cas' lips, and by God, how could they ever stop?

Now, for the first time, Cas actually leaned in.

Obviously, he was a quick learner, because the way he was pressing against Dean now, kisses growing deeper and hotter, it sure as hell was no accident.

Dean was melting away, feeling those strong, big hands cupping his head.

Goddammit, did Cas _have_ to be so friggin' good at this?

It was unbearable, so Dean just gave in entirely, let his hands wander around Cas' torso to clutch his bare back.

Suddenly, Cas paused. Dean thought he'd finally gone too far. When his lips were released, he was precariously close to letting out a frustrated sigh.

Cas, however, had stopped just to watch Dean.

Dean didn't even want to know how messy and ugly he was looking right now. Reluctantly, he found Cas' look—and immediately felt giddy under it. No one had ever looked at him like that. Dean felt unworthy, even though that look was promising the exact opposite.

Cas just held him like that for a moment, hands on his face, and hell, he was giving Dean chills all over.

Before Dean knew it, Cas was engaging him into an achingly gentle, cautious kiss, then another one, and another, and it was different than before, way too intimate. But Dean didn't want to do anything about it. Especially not when Cas was just discovering a secret talent of his, and was being such a hot mess about it.

The dark blue shirt was slowly riding up Cas' back as he bent Dean down into a lying position. Dean wasn't complaining. Cas was pretty heavy, but a nice kind of heavy, shielding, and catching him.

Cas was warm, hot as hell, and he was hard—hard for Dean—, which was nothing short of amazing. Dean's shorts were at least two sizes too small by now.

He didn't care. It was all good, all really good, and he never ever wanted Cas to stop whatever he was doing with his tongue. Dean followed Cas' lead, drowning in silent sighs, and guided one hand between Cas' legs.

"Dean", Cas moaned, rolling his hips at the touch.

"Keep doing that", Dean gasped.

"Ah, Dean—"

Dean spread his legs, pulling Cas closer to him by wrapping them around him. Dean kept massaging Cas' erection, which was perfectly palpable through the soft fabric of his pants, encouraging Cas to keep doing _that,_ to keep grinding against him. When Cas' thrusts became faster, and Dean was coming closer and closer to passing out in pleasure, Dean grabbed Cas' ass with both hands, and soon ended up slipping them under the fabric, feeling his bare, perfect cheeks.

"Cas—"

"Dean, I'm going to—"

 _"Fuck—"_

Helplessly, Dean came in his pants, so hard, he had to press his eyes shut for at least a minute, feeling Cas' hip roll slow down with each throbbing heartbeat, until eventually, he just lay on top of Dean, motionless, gasping for air. Cas' pants were loosely hanging around his knee pits, and, tremblingly, Dean relocated his grips to Cas' shoulders, leaving Cas' exposed skin all reddened and sore.

Then, like thousands of miles away, Dean heard some strange beeping sound that reminded him of heart rate measuring monitors in hospitals, and for a second he didn't know where he was.

Dean's eyelids finally fluttered open.

Cas was kissing his neck, lazily, as if Dean was the most desirable thing in the world. Now, Dean's cheeks, and his chin, were smothered with wet kisses, and damn, if this was what dying felt like, then life wasn't worth living.

Still, the beeping didn't stop.

And eventually, Dean understood that it was the room's fire alarm.

"Cas", Dean gasped, briefly slapping Cas' tousled head.

Cas just grumbled in response, too busy kissing his neck and collarbones.

"Dammit, Cas", Dean cursed, grabbing Cas' chin, forcing him to look up. "You hear anything?"

Without awaiting his answer, Dean crawled up from beneath him, heavily landed on his knees and yes, it hurt like a bitch, but there were more important things right now.

For one, making the friggin' _fire alarm_ stop beeping like a bomb.

Dean jumped on his legs, and hectically skimmed the room for the cause.

Turned out he'd thrown his cigarette right on top of a single tissue lying about on the floor.

 _That figures._

Maybe he should consider joining the basketball league, because apparently, he was just so amazing at aiming.

Groaning, Dean ran over to the smoking flame, and brutally choked it with his foot.

Then, Dean proceeded by tearing the balcony door wide open, nearly unhinging it, letting in the warmish night air, about to let himself out, when he was distracted by the feel of a pair of eyes practically piercing him.

Out of the corner of his eye, Dean saw Cas watching him with some kind of tense, worried expression, and yeah, Dean really didn't need that right now.

In fact, he didn't need _any_ of this.

Dean hissed, escaping onto the balcony.


	16. Avances

**Chapter 16**

Outside, Dean vaguely made out the shape of two sun chairs. It was hard to tell through blurred vision. Whatever it was, Dean collapsed on its side, and buried his head in his arms.

Inside, the beeping stopped.

Dean's crotch continued throbbing, though.

And his mind was still spinning like mad.

Dean couldn't hold back the angry, desperate tears, and began sobbing, quietly, pathetically, wishing he could just disappear forever.

A few stretched minutes later, Dean heard cautious footsteps approaching. Suddenly, he felt so very tired—not so much for his sleeplessness, which would've been more than justified by now, but because he was simply tired of everything.

Cas stopped at his feet.

"Dean", Cas began, sternly. "I'm… sorry."

"Yeah, that's great."

Dean looked up, sulkily, not caring if Cas saw him crying right now.

"You know what, I'm sorry too. But that doesn't change anything. This is just—"

Dean broke off, wiping away a single tear with a fist, unable to finish the sentence. _Wrong?_ _Insane?_ Just a few minutes ago, it hadn't felt anything like that. He lowered his voice to a mere whisper.

"I can't do this, Cas."

Cas stood still. „Then… why are you doing it?"

Dean gave him an angry glance.

Cas looked honestly confused.

"Because", Dean began, but didn't really know an answer to that, either.

He remembered his stupid plan. How could he have been so damn mindless? Had he even believed in it in the first place?

"I don't know", Dean croaked, massaging his temples. "Fuck."

They leaped into silence, the only sounds being the gentle breeze whispering through the door crack, and the rustling trees on the lamp lit street. A distant, muffled bass pulsated not very far from them, probably throbbing inside that beach club where Dean had actually thought he'd be right now. Yeah, that went so damn well.

Dean heard Cas slowly sink down on the chair next to his own, saw him lean forward on his knees from the corner of his eye. He was gazing into the starry night sky, wearing his most profound frown.

"I think I do", Cas said. "I know why I'm doing it."

Dean turned his head to him. "Well, congrats, Cas, but I'm not really in the mood for—"

Dean's mouth shut abruptly. He'd never forget that sight. Cas, sitting there in the moonlight, naked face all lit up, glowing silver. Cas tilted his head and lowered his darkened eyes.

"I like you, Dean. I'm… I'm very fond of you. I've never felt this way before, about anyone or anything. It may be wrong, and the circumstances may stand between us, but I… I just can't escape it, and I can't quite believe in the falsity of the whole thing, either, because what just happened… I just want you to know, Dean, that, whatever happens to us now, there will never come a day I'll regret it."

When Dean didn't say anything to that—couldn't possibly say anything to that—Cas turned his head to him, very slowly, carefully, giving Dean just enough time to snap out of it and stare at something other than Cas' ridiculously gorgeous profile with an almost painfully throbbing heart blurring his vision rhythmically. Dean's fingers were exceptionally interesting tonight, Dean examined. Shaking like crazy, though. Cas took a breath, as if to add something and break the silence, and Dean's stomach curled.

"Cas", he said. "I'm sorry, but I can't handle this right now. None—none of this. My head is reeling, my pants are sticky as hell, I'm friggin' _crying_ , okay, so please, just—"

"It's okay, Dean", Cas interrupted, softly. "I only wanted to let you know."

"Okay", Dean said, throat getting tighter. "But I can't—I don't know what to tell you, Cas, 'cause honestly, you— _this_ —just blew my mind, totally blew it, and I can't deal with it."

"Then don't. We can just sit, Dean. For now."

"And after? Then what?"

"We'll find a way."

"A way? What _way,_ Cas?"

Cas turned to Dean now, face serious, compassionate. "A way to… 'deal with it'."

Dean cleared his throat, studying his hands through watery eyes.

"So what do you suggest", Dean said, bitterly, feeling his face getting hot. "We start some kind of secret affair? Run away together, pull off the whole Bonnie and Clyde thing? Then just… get married in Vegas? Yeah, hate to break it to you, but this isn't going to work. It never will, and I should just leave now and never talk to you again, like we did for a while, remember, we can get there again, Cas, I—"

"No", Cas interrupted, with a firm hand on Dean's shoulder. „Lie down."

"What? Lie—lie down? You want me to— I swear to God, don't—"

"Lie _down_ , Dean."

Eyeing him suspiciously, Dean allowed Cas to push him down into a lying position... again.

"You need to get some rest", Cas said, worriedly studying him from above. "You look very tired, and it's a warm night. I'll watch over you."

"Yeah, I don't think this is cool. I really need to—"

" _Dean"_ , Cas silenced him, the anxiety in Cas' eyes making Dean actually shut up for a moment. "You can stay here. _Please."_

"Oh, now you're begging me", Dean replied, sourly. "'Cause it worked before, right?"

"No, that's not what I—"

"And, big surprise, it worked again! You're friggin' irresistible, Cas, you know that?"

"No", Cas said, slightly smiling. "I don't, actually."

"Well, you are", Dean repeated, sourly turning around, curled up in a ball. "You literally made me come in my pants. In less than two friggin' minutes. No one does that to me, you hear that?"

"Did you count?"

"Count—Cas, what are you talking about now?"

"The minutes. You said I made you come in less than two minutes. Does that mean you counted them?"

"I—I don't—what?"

"Never mind. I figure it doesn't matter." Cas smirked. "I heard you."

"Good", Dean grunted. "No one does that to me. Especially not you."

"Especially not me. Got that."

"Great. You better start getting it into your head then."

"Of course."

For a while, they just quietly accompanied each other, listening to the nightly sounds of the strange town, each lost in their own little, troubled world, until Cas suddenly got up and made a definite move towards the balcony door. A pang of fear pierced Dean's stomach, and he swirled around, wildly pointing at Cas.

"You're not leaving me here. Don't you dare leaving me."

Cas was speechless for a moment. "Dean I—I was going to get us clean pants."

Dean blinked, pointing finger slowly retreating. "Oh. _Oh._ O—okay. That's—", Dean waved, awkwardly. "Move along!"

"I will", Cas said, hesitating. "I'll go inside now."

Dean coughed slightly, crossing his arms. "Well, I certainly don't know of any clean pants out here."

"Me neither." Cas frowned. "So I'll—"

"You'll go inside."

"Yes."

"Good."

"Good."

"Just—"

"Just what?"

"Nothin'. Just—come back. With the clean pants, I mean. Kinda need 'em."

"Sure."

"And—with you… with yourself. I mean—just _come back_ , okay?"

Cas smiled to himself before turning around. "I promise, Dean."

* * *

„Cas. Stop whatever you're doing and look at this. Right now."

"Dean, we need to leave in thirty minutes. I can't find my sunglasses. Do you have them?"

"No, Cas, the hell would I need your friggin' sunglasses for? Now come on and take a look already, look what you've done."

"Fine. I don't have any time, though. I need to pack my—Oh. You have bad sunburn there, Dean."

"No shit. Thanks for pointing that out. Yeah, just come closer. See that? That's right. It's your friggin' _hand_ _print_ all over my shoulder. "

"How truly fascinating. The morning sun has been quite aggressive, I guess. Does it hurt?"

"Does it _hurt?_ Well yeah, it hurts like crap but other than that it's really awesome. You know, I couldn't imagine a better tattoo than your friggin' hand all over my shoulder."

"Well, it certainly does look interesting. I understand why you like it."

"Yeah, of course you do. Thanks a lot. I can't go outside like this. Just look at me. Hey, Dean, what's that thing on your shoulder? Oh, you know, it's just our teacher's handprint 'cause I happened to sleep on his balcony after he and I… on the couch… and then he kinda held me all night. No big deal. Dammit, Cas, just think about it for once."

"I—I guess that could sound a little wrong, Dean. I wouldn't tell anyone about this night. Do you… do you want my jacket?"

"Oh, yes, _please_ , gimme your jacket, 'cause me wearing your clothes is so much better than this. Genius idea, you know, why don't we just share our wardrobe all the time, you give me your top and I'll give you mine, or let's just walk around holding hands or something, so that even the last person gets it. No, I don't want your jacket, jeez. Never mind, I'll just—ugh, what now."

With an urgent vibration sound, Dean's cell phone came to life in his sticky short's pocket. After wearing Cas' super-comfy sweatpants all night, having to sport his own stiff-as-a-board shorts again was majorly contributing to his grumpiness, but since Dean only owned like two pairs of different pants, suddenly showing up with a fancy new one would be suspicious as hell. Especially after spending the entire night out.

 _Crap._

Dean tore his glare away from his own shameful reflection and let go of his sleeve to dig his pockets for his phone. Cas just stood behind him, thoughtfully rubbing his non-existent beard, undecided if he should closely study Dean's face or the self-made brand mark, edged in dark red on his skin.

Cas was so close that his breath tickled Dean's neck, which felt kind of cooling in one sense, but absolutely not in another.

At the sight of Dean's unpleasant find, the hectic—and pretty damn unnecessary, because they still had superabundant time—packing mania seemed to be temporarily forgotten, which was good, because Dean's frayed nerves really didn't need any of that right now.

Still, it wouldn't hurt if Cas backed off a little. His striking distance was exciting Dean more than it should and he didn't particularly love that feeling.

But he wasn't stepping forward himself, either.

Opening his messages, Dean groaned, expecting some random text from Gabe along the lines of _'yo D-dawg, where the f r u, I'm waiting on your ass'_ or just one from Lisa, simply wishing him a _'good morning'_.

She did that a lot lately and Dean found it rather disturbing. Perhaps he was being paranoid, no, he most definitely _was_ , but it always read like some hidden accusation.

Anyhow—and luckily—the text wasn't from Lisa.

It was yet from Gabe.

It didn't seem random, though.

 _ **dude. DUDE. I'm so. sorry. where r u? come over pls**_

Dean reread it several times.

He couldn't say why, but those few words gave him the creeps.

He'd had bad omens before, and they hardly ever stroke as plausible, but this time, as he was skimming the cryptic line over and over the haunting sensation nearly knocked him off his feet. Gabe was _sorry? 'Please'?_ Heaven forbid.

Whatever had gone down, this was serious. And if Gabe—the craziest and most annoying person Dean had ever met—actually got serious for once, and friggin' _apologized_ , it meant that something really hairy had happened. And right now, Dean worked out for himself, there were only two possibilities.

One, Gabe was up shit's creek for some drunk shit he'd pulled off last night, which seemed pretty likely, because wasted—and unattended—Gabe wasn't at all to be underestimated.

Two, Gabe had in all of his senseless intoxication somehow managed to push _Dean_ into the dirt instead. Considering Dean hadn't even _been_ at the club, it seemed even scarier, but all the likelier. The message said he was sorry after all.

Hands shaking, Dean just stared at his phone's screen, mouth-opened.

"Dean?" Cas asked, a long way off. "Are you okay?"

Dean threw him a glance, tongue-tied, seeing Cas' hand reach out to him. It looked like he was trying to be comforting—and possibly wasn't sure how else to react—, and Dean didn't shy away from the touch.

Ever since the two of them had woken up this morning, so damn late they'd missed breakfast, things had been pretty—extremely—awkward between them. All morning, Dean had violently refused to talk about the couch incident, and Cas hadn't made the mistake of cryptically asking him _how he felt_ twice.

For all of that, Cas' actions were kind of telling their own tale. Dean knew. A light squeeze on his shoulder as Cas had passed, an occasional push whenever Dean had stood in his way, it had been… well.

As balled up Dean had been—still was—he surely hadn't complained about it.

It had to be that special, closed off _hotel-room_ -atmosphere.

It did things to you.

And, yeah, dry-humping Cas probably had done the one or other thing to Dean, too, but he wasn't going to go there now. Unsurprisingly, Dean had no idea how to deal with the—new? Changed? See, no idea—Cas-situation, so he simply chose to do nothing about it.

Even if those subtle _avances—_ that probably wasn't what Cas had in mind, but it sure felt like it for Dean—were comparatively hard as hell to ignore.

Cas' fingers flinched.

He remembered that the skin around the hand-shaped imprint was an actual, burning wound. Cas mumbled something apologetic, but it wasn't so bad, even though the tiny contact stung like fire.

"Yeah, I'm okay", Dean replied, hardly recognizing the measly sound as his own voice. "I just gotta go now."

"Oh", Cas said, nodding. "Of course."

"Everyone's probably wondering where I've been all night. So… wish me luck."

Cas awkwardly crossed his fingers, which looked painful. "I'll keep my fingers crossed."

Dean couldn't help but smile. "Thanks. But, just so you know. You don't need to actually cross them the entire time. It's just a saying."

"Good", Cas said, relieved. "Carrying my bags like this would've been rather difficult."

"Cas", Dean said, mindlessly nudging Cas' cheek with a thumb. "Take care, all right?"

Cas' eyes went wide at the brief touch. "Yes. Yes, I'll… do that."

Dean nodded, and his legs slowly set in motion.

"See you, then, Dean."

"Yeah. See you."

Cas just gazed after him, saying nothing more. With one final look over his shoulder, Dean not only noticed a certain touch of disappointment in Cas' eyes, one that made his heart nearly crack in half, but also the long-lost sunglasses sitting on top of Cas' head, under the radar, well hidden in those dark tousled curls. _Classic_ , Dean thought, but wasn't able to point his find out to Cas, because he had a fist-sized lump in his throat and speaking was off the cards.

He stepped into the empty hallway.

Probably—hopefully—it was due to his wanton imagination, but the opposite door actually seemed to radiate some kind of danger. Like a lethal trap, set to bang right in your face if you dared coming any closer.

Dean did, though.

His sweaty hand seized the doorknob, and for one horrible split second he got the disgusting feeling that the cold metal was actually _moving_ in his hand, pulsating, that it was _alive_. But then again, maybe he was just finally losing it.

"Hey, Dean-o."

* * *

Gabe was a picture of misery, sitting there all weighed down on his hotel bed, the crammed overnighter lying ready to go at his feet. The gleaming tears in his reddened eyes were the scariest sight Dean had ever been confronted with. Well, definitely among the top five.

"Hey, man", Dean croaked. "What've you done, huh? Can't be that bad."

Gabe grimaced, and at first it looked as if he was going to smile, or _grin_. For a second Dean halfway expected him to burst out laughing, pointing at him, yelling: "Hah, gotcha! You should've seen your face!" But of course that didn't happen. Dean realized that Gabe was trying to stop himself from bursting out intears.

"You're pretty late, you know", Gabe said, barely above a whisper. Dean hadn't known he was able to be that quiet. "But that's just your thing. You're always late. Just skip over stuff you don't wanna do. That's just how you roll."

Dean squinted at him. "I don't know what you're talkin' ab—"

"The party", Gabe raised his voice, interrupting him. "You said you'd join me later, but you didn't. I've waited for you, but you never came and if you _had_ come maybe things would've turned out differently. I wouldn't have been back that early, for one thing. And hell, I was _drunk._ Is it—was it really my fault? I—I don't know."

"Gabe." Dean was alarmed. "What have you done?"

"You'll hate me forever."

"Just tell me!"

"Well, what have _you_ done, Dean-o? Where have _you_ been all night?"

"None of your business."

Gabe looked up at him, hurt. "Well, go me. You _already_ hate me."

Dean took a deep breath, closing his eyes. "Just tell me what you did, okay."

Gabe was shaken by a silent crying fit. Instead of comforting him with fine words, Dean felt the sudden, shattering urge to just go and grab Gabe's shoulders and just rattle the words out of him.

Before he had to go that far, however, Gabe wiped his eyes with the back of his hand and searched for Dean's look.

As soon as he found it, and the two of them quietly looked at each other with more seriousness than they have ever looked at each other with, all doubt was gone.

Dean had sensed it.

* * *

No more than two days had passed since traumatic plane experience _numero uno_ and now they were back above the clouds. And the return flight wasn't starting out to be any less traumatic than the first one.

In fact, if they got into another storm this time, then that'd be easier to handle than _this._

 _This_ was no one less than Lisa, who'd insisted on switching seats with Cas—Meg hadn't complained—to get a 2-friggin'-hours-long chance of explaining it all to Dean.

And yeah, she was doing a fair bit of explaining. He wasn't, though. As per usual, she wasn't recognizing his silence, even though he'd literally only existed ever since they'd taken off.

Within the past thirty minutes, Dean had become sort of numb, weirdly apart, which was funny, because Lisa was clutching his arm as if he was the unalienable part that kept everything together. Her drama wasn't staining, though.

Her wild gesticulation, her shock-headed strands of hair, the smudgy make-up spread on her face, black mascara tears rolling out of swollen eyes and the endless tide of words floating out of her mouth, Dean wasn't participating. All of these signs should've told Dean that she was genuinely sorry. But he wasn't _feeling_ it.

He was performing the main role in some sick movie and she was playing her part just fine.

"And I was looking for you, but you haven't been there. Do you understand? So I waited for you. I waited for you in your room, and there was Gabe and then…"

… _and then it just happened._

Dean already knew her miserable speech by heart. And he got all of these nice and saucy little pictures in his head to go with it.

Granted, it was a believable story alright—but at the same time it wasn't. It didn't seem real. Hanging in his seat, Lisa crying her heart out to him, the whole trip didn't, and none of the latest events had made it into his reality just yet, but Gabe… _getting it on with Lisa_ … and vice-versa… it just had to be some kind of sick joke.

"I—I don't know, Dean, I just felt neglected, and alone. You just keep on disappearing and I felt like we didn't spend as much time anymore. You know, to be honest, ever since summer holidays, we haven't been…"

… _we haven't been the same._

Dean stuck it out with a bland expression.

Her tears were seeping through his sweatshirt, but he merely patted her shoulder, not much differently from how you'd maybe comfort a stranger. Mr. White threw them an unsteady glance every now and then, which was annoying, not to mention the curious whisper of his classmates way behind his back. Dean felt obliged to react to her drama in some way at least.

But she wasn't truly sorry.

And, honestly, Dean wasn't, either.

He couldn't stop thinking of the night he'd spent with Cas.

Especially the evening.

The way Cas just... and then his... or how he'd lain into him like that, when he... damn.

Remembering it, detailed, vividly, was driving Dean right out of his mind. And, besides, falling asleep and waking up next to Cas was just… nice. But last night, and this past morning, it'd been… _very_ nice.

Different.

He definitely wouldn't question the kind of difference, though. Particularly not while Lisa was crying her eyes out onto his shoulder. He hadn't stooped that low yet. Although it did tell him something.

One, he was absolutely sick of listening to that goddamn story over and over.

Two, why the hell didn't he tell her already?

"And so I went to your room and I was looking for you—"

"Lis," Dean chimed in, harsher than originally planned. "Listen, Lis. I got it. It's not exactly a brain-teaser. You slept with Gabe and you're sorry. I got the picture."

She hushed, staring at him, red-eyed.

He faced her, unsmilingly, carefully weighing his next words. Dammit, this shit was overdue. Someone had to finally say it. Obviously, it wouldn't be her, so it was on him to speak presumably both of their minds.

"Lis, I don't think this is gettin' us anywhere", Dean went on. "Maybe we should, you know. Let's just go separate ways from here on."


End file.
